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COLOMBA 


T R A N SLA TED FROM THE FRENCH 


PROSPER MERIMEE 


BY 

ROSE SHERMAN 


3 


O 


NEW YORK: 46 East 14TH Street 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY 

BOSTON: 100 Purchase Street 

iSS'r 


,M sH 



Copyright, 1897, 

By T. Y. Crowell & Co. 





* 


TYPOGRAPHY BY C. J. PETERS & SON, BOSTON. 


PRESSWORK BY ROCKWELL & CHURCHILL. 


PREFACE. 


Prosper M£rimee has been known to the world 
of letters for nearly seventy-five years. Endowed 
with artistic instincts by a father who spent a large 
part of his life as secretary of the School of Fine 
Arts at Paris, and professor of art at the Polytech- 
nic School, and who left behind a history of oil 
painting and a wall decoration in the Louvre, and 
also by a mother whose painting showed keen ob- 
servation and skill, he made, when only twenty-two 
years old, a successful leap into fame. He had 
neglected his preparation for the law, to which his 
father destined him, and had yielded to the attrac- 
tions of society and literature. His historical 
drama, Cromwell, enthusiastically received by the 
friends to whom he read it at a literary society, 
served as a stepping-stone to Le Tht&tre de Clara 
Gaznl, his first printed work, which took the pub- 
lic by storm. It was a collection of so-called trans- 
lations from the reminiscences of a famous Spanish 
actress who had retired from the stage. Mdrim^e, 
fearful of failure, concealed himself under a double 
pseudonym ; for he not only attributed his own com- 
iii 


iv 


PREFACE. 


positions to the imaginary Clara Gazul, but also 
wrote an introductory biographical sketch of this 
supposed author under the name of Joseph l’E- 
strange. The success of this book made Mdrimde 
no less prudent about those that followed. In his 
eagerness to find local color, he planned a journey 
with a friend ; but money was wanting for the ne- 
cessary expenses. “ Let us write up our trip,” he 
said ; “ and with the money that the publication 
brings us, we will go to see whether the country 
agrees with our description.” In two weeks he had 
written a collection of Popular Songs of Dalmatia, 
called Guzla , from the name of a guitar used in the 
Illyrian provinces, legends of pure Parisian make, 
which the public accepted seriously, and heartily 
applauded. This, too, was preceded by the life of 
a pretended author, a poet called Hyacinthe Mag- 
lanovich. La Jacquerie, a tale of a peasant insur- 
rection during the captivity of King John, and La 
Chronique du regne de Charles LX. followed, and 
gave Mdrimde a distinguished place in literature. 
He was asked to contribute to La Revue de Paris 
and La Revue des deux Mondes j and in these peri- 
odicals he published, between 1830 and 1845, his 
stories, Carmen , Les Ames du Purgatoire, Le Vase 
itrusque , La Venus d' I lie, Arsene Guillot, his mas- 
terpiece Colomba, which admitted him to the French 
Academy, and many other short sketches. 


PREFACE. 


V 


On a journey to Spain in 1828, M^rimde became 
interested in archaeology, and devoted himself to it 
more or less diligently during the remainder of his 
life. After an interval of service in the Depart- 
ment of Commerce and the Department of the In- 
terior, he was appointed to the congenial office of 
Inspector-General of Historic Monuments, for which 
he was well fitted. He was useful and thorough, 
and made his travels serve a literary as well as 
a scientific purpose. They brought him among 
strange people in the East, in Greece, England, 
Spain, Italy, and elsewhere, and gave opportunity 
for studying many varieties of human nature. He 
made himself the friend of muleteers, bull-fighters, 
and gypsies, eating and drinking with them, and at 
night telling ghost-stories which made their hair 
stand on end. 

The first visit to Spain is memorable as marking 
the beginning of the life-long friendship between 
Mdrimde and the Countess of Montijo and her 
^daughter Eugdnie. The countess was one of those 
cool, patient, optimistic, open-minded society leaders, 
who are the guides of men and events. She knew 
in what library or in what mind to find any desired 
information ; and having taken Mdrim^e under her 
wing, she set librarians, record-keepers, and profes- 
sors to work for him. She told him the incident 
from which Carmen was developed, and gave him 


VI 


PREFACE. 


the material for Don Pldre. He told stories to his 
five-year-old charmer, and corrected her French 
exercises ; and years afterwards, when she became 
Empress of France as the wife of Napoleon III., 
she remembered her old friend by making him sen- 
ator, and giving him a position at court. 

During all these years Mdrimde was studying 
languages, often in their native places, and digging 
deep into their literature and history, leaving no 
stone unturned, as was his wont. He had an inti- 
mate knowledge of Italian, Spanish, Greek, Latin, 
Russian, and English, and several dialects, besides 
his French, and some knowledge of German; and 
in the latter part of his life he devoted a great deal 
of attention to the study of comparative grammar. 
His work in Russian has a permanent value, for he 
made translations from that language into French 
which gave the first impulse to modern interest in 
Russian literature. 

The most salient characteristic of Mdrimde’s 
nature was his self-repression. It began to show 
itself in the child of five years, who declared that 
he would never again allow his impulses full play. 
He had been reproved for some misdemeanor, and 
sent from his mother’s studio. His entreaties to be 
allowed to return receiving no answer, he opened 
the door, and dragged himself on his knees to his 
mother’s side, begging for her forgiveness. As she 


PREFACE. 


Vll 


glanced up from her painting, the ludicrousness of 
the picture of his humility struck her ; and her laugh 
changed the boy’s repentance into the feeling that 
he had been made the dupe of his sincerity. From 
this time his manner became extremely reserved 
and studied. He wore the mask of indifference in 
the presence of his tormenting cousins, and strove 
always to carry himself as if he were watched by 
a mocking spectator. The mocking spectator was 
the cynical Mdrimde, on guard over every act of 
Mdrimde the man of society. His dual nature dis- 
played itself also in his friendships, as is perhaps 
most strikingly exemplified in his defence of M. 
Libri, an Italian who was accused of having appro- 
priated certain valuable manuscripts which had dis- 
appeared from the libraries under his inspection. 
Mdrimee believed in Libri’s honesty, and published 
an article defending him, at the cost of fifteen days 
of imprisonment, and a fine of a thousand francs. 
Without accepting the offer of an enthusiastic Cor- 
sican to start a vendetta against the judge who had 
sentenced the author of Colombo,, Mdrimde went 
with ironical patience and grace to his cell, a place 
where he was neither inconvenienced by the sun- 
light nor troubled by visitors, as he pleasantly put 
it, and where he passed the time studying Russian, 
and writing Les Faux Demdtrius. 

Mdrimde’s nature was under such continual re- 


PREFACE. 


viii 

straint that the publication of the Lettres d une 
Inconnue, after his death, was looked forward to 
with great eagerness, as a solution of the enigma of 

a life, of which the motto had been fj.efivr)<TO dnurTelv 

remember to distrust. The question in every one*s 
mind, “ Had M^rimde a heart?” was answered in 
the affirmative by the expressions of tender love for 
the unknown lady of the letters. He showed him- 
self affectionate, delicate in feeling, even poetical 
at times, as well as witty. On a visit to Greece, he 
wrote : — 

“ I send you a blade of grass gathered on the hill 
of Anthela, at Thermopylae, on the spot where fell 
the last of the three hundred. It is not impossible 
that particles of the dead Leonidas mingle with the 
constituent atoms of this little flower. It was, I re- 
member, at this very spot, while lying on heaped-up 
straw, and talking to my friend Ampere, that I told 
him that among the tender memories remaining to 
me there was only one unmixed with bitterness. I 
thought of our beautiful youth. Pray keep my fool- 
ish flower.” 

Again, while visiting the amphitheatre at Nimes, 
M^rimde was closely followed and watched by a 
strange bird, said to be foreign to that region. He 
remembered that the Duchess of Buckingham saw 
her husband in the form of a bird on the day of his 
assassination ; and the idea flashed upon him that 


PREFACE. 


ix 


his loved one was dead, and had assumed that 
shape to visit him. “ In spite of myself, this non- 
sense distressed me,” he wrote to her; “and I was 
enchanted to find your letter dated on the day on 
which I first saw my marvellous bird.” But the 
ardent lover alternated with the severe critic ; and 
lie quarrelled with the unknown, and made up with 
her, for years, until at last the fragments of the old 
love were gathered into a calm, trusting friendship, 
which lasted to the end of their lives. The later 
letters, from 1848 to 1870, are filled with comments 
about books, society, politics, archaeology, and keen 
criticisms of noted people of the day; and in the 
very late letters there iswnuch about Merimde’s suf- 
fering. His health failed, as his disgust with the 
world increased ; and he went regularly to spend the 
winter at Cannes, where he practised archery and 
sketched, in order to pass the time, and paid kind 
attentions to his pet lizard, and to a cat which occu- 
pied a lonely neighboring cabin. In 1870, at the 
age of sixty-seven, he died, his physical health com- 
pletely broken down, while his mind was as able 
and original as ever until the very last. He was 
buried at Cannes. 

Although Merimde wrote history, notes of travel, 
critical essays, and valuable archaeological treatises, 
his lasting fame rests upon his fiction. He loved 
epochs and countries where life was wild and active, 


X 


PREFACE. 


and passions strong, as in the mountains of Spain 
or the maquis of Corsica; and the peculiar preju- 
dices of each place concentrated themselves into 
beings of his imagination, which little by little grew 
so real to him that they came forth from his brain 
full-formed, like Athena from the head of Zeus. 
Mdrimde’s stories are short, but he was a master in 
handling them. He always chose the most signifi- 
cant details, and all that were essential ; but not one 
superfluous word was admitted. Rien de plus was 
the principle by which he ruled his pen. With him 
compression did not result in stiffness. His words 
are simple, and his expression natural, graceful, and 
marked by the exquisite taste which characterized 
him in every walk of life. He had a wonderful elas- 
ticity and acuteness, which enabled him to adapt his 
style to a variety of subjects. Nearly every country 
of Europe, from Spain, Corsica, and Greece in the 
the south, to Russia and Sweden in the north, gave 
him inspiration, and became the scene of at least 
one story from him, true in local atmosphere and 
charm. Through the realism and finish of Mdri- 
mde’s style, one yet feels the pessimism of his mind. 
It is almost unexpressed; but it is always there, a 
hovering, subtle irony. He never allowed himself to 
feel one heart-throb with his characters, just as he 
never allowed his critical nature to yield to his im- 
pulsive nature. He looked upon what he consid- 


PREFACE. 


xi 


ered as their vanities with indifference, or at best 
with an ironical smile. Some one once likened him 
to a monkey, which climbs to the top of the tree, 
and makes grimaces at the world below. 

The heroines of Mdrimde’s books are universally 
bad. Throughout the list of romances, from La 
Chronique to Carmen , there is not one good woman 
in a prominent part. Not that Merimde did not 
believe in good ; but virtuous persons bored him, 
while the psychology of evil was interesting to him. 
Hence he permitted his heroines to lie and steal 
and bite, and be as unscrupulous as they pleased, 
provided they were graceful and charming, and 
beautiful to the eye. Among the whole array of 
wicked fair ones, Colomba is most firmly drawn and 
most finely shaded. She is the very incarnation of 
the revengeful spirit of Corsica. She knew the wild 
maquis , the lurking-places of the bandits ; her slen- 
der hand was skilful with the stiletto, her ballatas 
were weird and haunting. Bred on suspicions and 
hatreds, she was able to divine with keen intuition 
every secret thought and act of her enemies; and 
having once found it possible to kindle the fiery 
Corsican blood which civilized customs had not 
quite cooled in her brother’s veins, she did not lack 
artifices to urge him on to what she considered as 
the only honorable course in a land of trickery. 


ROSE SHERMAN. 


\ 




4 




COLOMBA 
















COLOMBA. 


CHAPTER I. 

P& far la to vendetta, 

Sta sigur’, vasta anche ella. 

Yocero du Niolo. 

In the early part of the month of October, 1 8 1— , 
Colonel Sir Thomas Nevil, a distinguished Irish 
officer of the English army, was stopping with his 
daughter at the Beauveau Hotel at Marseilles, on 
his return from a trip to Italy. 

The continual admiration of everything by en- 
thusiastic travellers has produced a reaction ; and in 
order to be odd, many tourists of the present day 
take Horace’s nil admirari for their motto. Miss 
Lydia, the only daughter of the colonel, belonged 
to this class of discontented travellers. She con- 
sidered the Transfiguration mediocre, and an erup- 
tion of Vesuvius scarcely superior to the factory 
chimneys at Birmingham. In short, her principal 
objection to Italy was that the country lacked local 
coloring and characteristic features. At first Miss 
Lydia had flattered herself that she had found be- 
3 


4 


CO LOME A. 


yond the Alps things that no one had seen before, 
which she could talk about avec les honnites gens, 
as Monsieur Jourdain says. But soon, when she 
found that her countrymen had been everywhere 
before her, she despaired of making discoveries, and 
threw herself into the opposing party. It is really 
very disagreeable not to be able to speak of the 
wonders of Italy without having some one exclaim, 
“ Of course you know that picture by Raphael in 

the palace at ? It is the finest thing in 

Italy.” And it is precisely what you have neg- 
lected to see. Since it takes too long to see every- 
thing, the simplest way is to condemn all in advance. 

At the Beauveau Hotel Miss Lydia had a bitter 
disappointment. She had brought back a pretty 
sketch of the Pelasgian or Cyclopean Gate of 
Segni, which she believed had been overlooked 
by artists. Now Lady Frances Fenwick, whom 
she met at Marseilles, had shown her own sketch- 
book, in which appeared, between a sonnet and a 
dried flower, a drawing of that very gate, brilliantly 
colored with sienna. Miss Lydia gave her sketch 
to her chambermaid, and lost all interest in Pelas- 
gian construction. 

This unfortunate state of mind was shared by 
Colonel Nevil, who, since the death of his wife, 
had seen everything through Miss Lydia’s eyes. 
It seemed to him that Italy was very wrong to 


COLO MB A. 


5 


have bored his daughter, and it was consequently 
the most tiresome country in the world. He had 
nothing to say, it is true, against the pictures and 
the statues; but he was sure that hunting was 
wretched in that country, and that it was necessary 
to go ten leagues into the country around Rome, 
in the open sun, to kill even a few worthless red 
partridges. 

The day after his arrival at Marseilles he invited 
his former adjutant, Captain Ellis, who had just 
spent six weeks in Corsica, to dine with him. The 
captain told Miss Lydia, in a very clever way, a 
story about bandits, which had the merit of being 
totally unlike the accounts of thieves which people 
had so often related to her on the road from Rome 
to Naples. At dessert the two men, left alone with 
the bottles of Bordeaux wine, talked of hunting; 
and the colonel learned that there was no country 
where game was better, more various, and more 
abundant than in Corsica. 

“ There are a great many wild boars there,” said 
Captain Ellis ; “ and it is necessary to learn to dis- 
tinguish them from the domestic hogs, which re- 
semble them very closely ; for in killing hogs you 
get into a scrape with their keepers. These men 
rush out, armed to the teeth, from a thicket which 
they call maquis , make you pay for the beasts, and 
insult you. There is also the mouflon , a very strange 


6 


COLO MB A. 


animal, that is not found elsewhere, — excellent 
game, but hard to catch. Stags, deer, pheasants, 
partridges — it would be impossible to enumerate 
all the kinds of game that abound in Corsica. If 
you are fond of shooting, go to Corsica, Colonel ; 
there, as one of my friends said, you can fire upon 
all kinds of game, from a thrush to a man.” 

At tea the captain entertained Miss Lydia again 
by an account of a transversale 1 revenge, still 
stranger than his first story ; and he made her quite 
enthusiastic for Corsica by describing the unique, 
wild aspect of the country, the original character 
of its inhabitants, their hospitality, and their primi- 
tive customs. Finally he gave her a pretty little 
stiletto, less remarkable for its form and its copper 
mounting than for its history. A famous bandit 
had given it to Captain Ellis, with the assurance 
that it had been thrust into four human bodies. 
Miss Lydia slipped it into her belt, placed it on 
the table beside her bed at night, and drew it 
twice from its sheath before she went to sleep. 
As for the colonel, he dreamed that he killed a 
mouflon , and that its owner demanded pay for 
it, which he gave willingly; for it was a very curi- 
ous animal, resembling a wild boar, with a stag’s 
horns and a pheasant’s tail. 

1 This is the vengeance taken upon a more or less distant relative 
of the offender. 


COLO MB A. 


7 


“Ellis says there is fine hunting in Corsica,” 
said the colonel, as he was taking breakfast alone 
with his daughter ; “ if it were not so far away, 
I should like to spend a fortnight there.” 

“ Well,” replied Miss Lydia, “why should we not 
go to Corsica? While you were hunting, I would 
draw; I should be delighted to have in my album 
the grotto that Captain Ellis told us about, where 
Bonaparte went to study when he was a child.” 

This was perhaps the first time that a desire 
manifested by the colonel had obtained the ap- 
probation of his daughter. Although delighted at 
this unexpected agreement, he had the good sense 
to make some objections in order to irritate Miss 
Lydia’s happy caprice. In vain he spoke of the 
wildness of the country, and the difficulty for & 
woman to travel there : she was afraid of nothing ; 
she liked above all things to travel on a horse; 
she rejoiced at the idea of sleeping in the open 
air ; she even threatened to go to Asia Minor. In 
short, she had this reply to everything, — that no 
Englishwoman had ever been in Corsica, and there- 
fore she must go. And what pleasure, on her 
return to St. James’s Place, to show her album! 
“ But, my dear, why do you pass over this charm- 
ing drawing?” — “ Oh, that is nothing. It is only 
a sketch of a famous Corsican bandit who was our 
guide.” — “ What, have you been in Corsica ! ” 


8 


COLO MB A. 


Since there were at that time no steamboats be- 
tween France and Corsica, they inquired for some 
ship about to start for the island which Miss Lydia 
proposed to discover. On the same day the colonel 
wrote to Paris to countermand his order for a suite 
of rooms there, and bargained with the captain of 
a Corsican schooner bound for Ajaccio for two 
cabins, such as they were. Provisions were put on 
board ; the captain assured them that one of his 
old sailors was an excellent cook, unequalled for 
bouillabaisse ; and he promised that mademoiselle 
should be comfortable, and should have a fair wind 
and a smooth sea. 

More than this, the colonel stipulated, according 
to the wishes of his daughter, that the captain 
should take no other passenger, and that he should 
contrive to skirt the coast of the island, that they 
might enjoy the view of the mountains. 


COLO MB A. 


9 


CHAPTER II. 

On the day fixed for the departure, everything 
was packed and put on board in the morning: 
the schooner was to sail with the evening breeze. 
In the meantime, while the colonel was walking 
with his daughter on the Canebi&re boulevard, the 
captain accosted him to ask permission to take on 
board one of his relatives, the second cousin of 
the godfather of his eldest son, who was return- 
ing to Corsica on pressing business, and could find 
no boat to take him over. “ He is a charming 
fellow,” added Captain Matei, “a soldier, an offi- 
cer in the Light Infantry of the Guard, and he 
would be a colonel by this time if Napoleon were 
still emperor.” 

“ Since he is a soldier ” — began the colonel, 
and he was going to add, “ I am very willing that 
he should come with us,” when Miss Lydia cried 
out in English, — 

“ An infantry officer ! ” (Since her father had 
served in the cavalry, she scorned every other kind 
of service.) n Probably an uneducated man who 
will be seasick, and will spoil all the pleasure of 
the trip for us I” 


IO 


CO LOME A. 


The captain did not understand a word of Eng- 
lish, but he seemed to know what Miss Lydia said 
by the little pout of her pretty mouth ; and he 
began an elaborate eulogy of his relative, which 
he ended by saying that he was a gentleman, of 
a family of corporals, and that he would not trouble 
monsieur and mademoiselle in any way ; for he, the 
captain, would see that he was lodged in some 
corner where they would not be aware of his pres- 
ence. 

The colonel and Miss Lydia thought it singular 
that there should be families in Corsica in which 
the rank of corporal was handed down from father 
to son; but as they really thought that they were 
talking about a corporal in the infantry, they con- 
eluded that he was some poor wretch whom the 
captain wished to take out of charity. Had he 
been an officer, they would have been obliged to 
talk with him and live with him; but surely there 
was no need of troubling themselves about a cor- 
poral, who is of little importance except when his 
detachment is present, with bayonets fixed, ready 
to lead some one where he does not wish to go. 

“ Is your relative ever seasick?” asked Miss 
Nevil dryly. 

“Never, mademoiselle; his stomach is as firm 
as a rock, on the sea as well as on land^” 

“Well, you may take him,” she said. 


COLOMBA. 


1 1 


“You may take him,” repeated the colonel; and 
they continued their walk. 

About five o’clock in the evening Captain Matei 
came to look for them, in order to take them on 
board the schooner. On the wharf, near the cap- 
tain’s yawl, they found a tall young man dressed 
in a blue frock-coat buttoned up to his chin ; his 
complexion was sunburned, his eyes black, keen, 
and finely cut, and his countenance frank and intel- 
ligent. By the way in which he held back his 
shoulders, and by his short, curled mustache, it 
was easy to recognize that he was a soldier; for 
at that time mustaches were not common, and the 
National Guard had not yet introduced into all 
families the uniform and the manners of the guard - 
room. 

On seeing the colonel the young man took off 
his cap, and without the slightest embarrassment 
thanked him politely for the service which he had 
rendered. 

“ Glad to have been useful to you, my lad,” 
said the colonel, nodding pleasantly as he stepped 
into the yawl. 

“ Your Englishman is rather unceremonious,” said 
the young man to the captain, speaking Italian in a 
low tone. 

The captain placed his forefinger under his left 
eye, and drew down the corners of his mouth. To 


12 


COLO MB A. 


one who knew the language of signs, that meant 
that the Englishman understood Italian, and that 
he was a curious person. The young man smiled 
slightly, touched his forehead in reply to Matei’s 
sign, as if to say that all Englishmen had some- 
thing askew in their heads, then seated himself 
beside the captain, and surveyed his pretty trav- 
elling companion with much attention, but without 
the least impertinence. 

“ Those French soldiers have a fine bearing,” said 
the colonel to his daughter in English ; “ and for 
that reason they can easily be made officers.” Then, 
addressing the young man in French, he said, — 

“ Tell me, my good fellow, in what regiment 
have you served ? ” 

The soldier gave a slight nudge to the father 
of the godson of his second cousin, and suppress- 
ing an ironical smile, answered that he had been 
in the Foot Guard, and had just come from the 
Seventh Regiment of the Light Infantry. 

“ Did you serve at Waterloo ? You are very 
young.” 

“ Pardon me, Colonel ; that was my only cam- 
paign.” 

“ It counts double,” said the colonel. 

The young Corsican bit his lips. 

“ Papa,” said Miss Lydia in English, “ ask him 
if the Corsicans love their Bonaparte very much.” 


COLO MB A. 


13 


Before the colonel had translated the question 
into French, the young man replied in very good 
English, although with a marked accent, — 

“ You know that no one is a prophet in his own 
land. Perhaps we countrymen of Napoleon care 
less for him than the French do ; as for me, 
although my family was formerly hostile to his, 
I love and admire him.” 

“ You speak English ! ” exclaimed the colonel. 

“Very badly, as you can see.” 

Although a little shocked at his free and easy 
tone, Miss Lydia could not help laughing at the 
thought of a personal enmity between a corporal 
and an emperor. This was like a foretaste of the 
peculiarities of Corsica, and she resolved to note 
down the fact in her journal. 

“ Perhaps you have been a prisoner in Eng- 
land ? ” inquired the colonel. 

“ No, Colonel ; I learned English in France, when 
I was very young, from a prisoner of your nation.” 
Then, turning to Miss Nevil, he said, — 

“ Matei told me that you are returning from 
Italy. I suppose you speak pure Tuscan, made- 
moiselle ; you will find it difficult, I fear, to under- 
stand our dialect.” 

“ My daughter understands all the Italian dia- 
lects,” replied the colonel ; “ she has a gift for 
languages. She is not like me.” 


14 


COLO MB A. 


“ Perhaps mademoiselle can understand these 
lines from one of our Corsican songs ? A shepherd 
says to a shepherdess : — 


‘ S’ entrassi ’ ndru paradisu santu, santu , 

E nun truvassi a tia, mi n'esciria .’ ” 1 

Miss Lydia did understand ; and finding the quo- 
tation rather bold, and the look that accompanied 
it still more so, she answered, blushing, — 

“ Capisco .” 

“ Are you returning home on a furlough ? ” asked 
the colonel. 

“ No. They have put me on half pay, probably 
because I was at Waterloo, and because I am a 
fellow-countryman of Napoleon. I am going home 
‘ Low in hopes, low in cash,’ as the song says.” 
And he sighed, glancing up towards the sky. 

The colonel put his hand in his pocket, and 
drawing out a gold-piece, tried to think of a phrase 
with which he might politely slip it into the hand 
of his unfortunate enemy. 

“ I, too, am on half pay,” he said good-hu- 
moredly ; “ but your half pay is not enough to allow 
you to buy tobacco. Take this, Corporal.” He 
tried to push the gold-piece into the closed hand 
which the young man rested on the side of the 

1 If I should enter the blessed, blessed paradise, and should not 
find you there, I should go away. — Serenata di Zicavo. 


CO LOME A. 


15 


yawl ; but the Corsican, reddening, drew himself 
up, bit his lips, and seemed on the point of answer- 
ing angrily, when his expression suddenly changed, 
and he burst out laughing. The colonel, with his 
coin in his hand, was dumb with amazement. 

“ Colonel,” said the young man, recovering his 
gravity, “ let me give you two bits of advice : first, 
never offer money to a Corsican, for some of my 
countrymen are impolite enough to throw it at 
your head ; second, do not give people titles which 
they do not claim. You call me corporal, and I 
am lieutenant. Of course there is not much differ- 
ence, but” — 

“ Lieutenant ! ” cried Sir Thomas, “ lieutenant ! 
but the captain said that you were a corporal, like 
your father and all the men of your family.” 

At these words the young man threw himself 
back, and began to laugh so heartily, and with 
such good grace, that the captain and his two 
sailors burst out in chorus. 

“ I beg your pardon, Colonel,” the young man 
said at last ; “ but the mistake is so funny, and 
I did not understand it till just now. My family 
indeed takes pride in counting corporals among its 
ancestors; but our Corsican corporals have never 
worn stripes on their clothes. About the year 
1100, some of the commons revolted against the 
tyranny of the mountain lords, and chose for them- 


1 6 


COLO MB A. 


selves chiefs whom they called caporaux. In our 
island we deem it an honor to be a descendant 
of tribunes of this kind.” 

“ I beg a thousand pardons, sir,” exclaimed the 
colonel, extending his hand ; “ since you under- 
stand the cause of my mistake, I hope you will 
have the kindness to excuse it.” 

“ It is the just punishment of my petty pride, 
Colonel,” said the young man, still laughing, and 
cordially shaking the Englishman’s hand ; “ I bear 
you no ill-will whatever. Since my friend Matei 
has given me such a poor introduction, allow me 
to present myself : I am Orso della Rebbia, a lieu- 
tenant on half pay; and if you are going to Cor- 
sica to hunt, as I presume from seeing these two 
fine dogs, I shall be delighted to do you the honors 
of our maquis and of our mountains — if I have 
not altogether forgotten them,” he added with a 
sigh. 

At this moment the yawl touched the schooner. 
The lieutenant offered his hand to Miss Lydia, and 
then helped the colonel swing himself up on the 
deck. Sir Thomas, still rather abashed on account 
of his blunder, and eager to make a man who 
dated from the year 1 1 oo forget his impertinence, 
without waiting for his daughter’s consent, invited 
him to supper, renewing his excuses and his hand- 
shakes. Miss Lydia frowned a little ; but, after all, 


COLO MB A. 


17 


she was not sorry to learn what a corporal was, 
and she began to find her guest not only pleasing, 
but rather aristocratic — only he was too frank and 
gay for a hero of a romance. 

“ Lieutenant della Rebbia,” said the colonel, ad- 
dressing him in the English manner, with a glass 
of Madeira in his hand, “ I have seen many of 
your countrymen in Spain ; they were a splendid 
corps of infantry sharpshooters.” 

“ Yes, many of them have remained in Spain,” 
said the young lieutenant seriously. 

“ I shall never forget the conduct of a Corsican 
battalion at the battle of Vittoria,” continued the 
colonel. “ I have reason to remember it,” he added, 
rubbing his chest. “ All day there had been sharp- 
shooters in the gardens and behind the hedges, 
and they had killed I know not how many of our 
men and horses. When they had decided to re- 
treat, they drew up their forces, and made off at 
a great pace. On the plain we hoped to take our 
revenge ; but those rascals, — excuse me, Lieutenant, 
— those brave men, I should say, had formed a 
square, and there was no way of breaking it. In 
the middle of the square was an officer mounted 
on a small black horse — it seems as if I could 
see him now. He remained beside the flag, smok- 
ing his cigar as coolly as if he had been at a 
coffee-house. Now and then, as if to defy us, they 


i8 


COLO MB A. 


blew a flourish on their trumpets. I sent my first 
two squadrons against them. Bah ! instead of cut- 
ting into the front of the square, my dragoons 
passed to the sides, then faced about, and returned 
in great disorder, many a horse without its master 
— and there was always that confounded music ! 
When the smoke that surrounded the battalion had 
cleared away, I saw the officer still beside the flag, 
smoking his cigar. I was enraged, and put myself 
at the head for a last charge. Their guns, choked 
with hard firing, would not go off, but the sol- 
diers had formed into six ranks, with their bayo- 
nets at the height of our horses’ noses ; you would 
have taken them for a wall. I was urging on my 
dragoons with shouts, and was spurring on my 
horse, when the officer, finally throwing away his 
cigar, pointed me out to one of his men, and I 
heard something like ‘ A l capello bianco / ’ I wore 
a white plume. I did not hear anything more, for 
a ball passed through my chest. That was a fine 
battalion, Monsieur della Rebbia, the first of the 
Eighteenth Light, and made up entirely of Corsi- 
cans, as I learned afterwards.” 

“Yes,” said Orso, whose eyes had sparkled dur- 
ing this recital, “ they sustained the retreat, and 
brought back their standard; but two-thirds of 
those brave men are sleeping on the plain of Vit- 
toria.” 


COLOMBA. 19 

Do you happen to know the name of the offi- 
cer who commanded them ? ” 

“ It was my father. He was then major of the 
Eighteenth, and was made colonel for his bravery 
on that sad day.” 

“ Your father ! Upon my word, he was a brave 
man ! I should like to see him again, and I should 
recognize him, I know. Is he still living ? ” 

“ No, Colonel,” said the young man, becoming 
slightly pale. 

“ Was he at Waterloo ? ” 

“Yes, Colonel; but he did not have the good for- 
tune to die on a battlefield. He died in Corsica, 
two years ago. — How beautiful this sea is! It is 
ten years since I have seen the Mediterranean. 
Do you not find the Mediterranean more beauti- 
ful than the ocean, mademoiselle ? ” 

“It is too blue, and the waves are too small.” 

“ I see you like wild beauty, mademoiselle. Then 
Corsica will please you.” 

“My daughter,” said the colonel, “likes every- 
thing that is unusual ; that is why Italy did not 
please her much.” 

“ I know nothing of Italy,” said Orso, “ except- 
ing Pisa, where I spent some time at college ; but 
I cannot think without admiration of the Campo 
Santo, of the Duomo, and of the Leaning Tower 
— above all, of the Campo Santo. You remem- 


20 


COLO MB A. 


ber the Triumph of Death , by Orcagna — I be- 
lieve I could draw it, it has remained so firmly 
stamped upon my memory.” 

Miss Lydia was afraid that Monsieur della 
Rebbia was going to begin an enthusiastic tirade, 
and answered, yawning, — 

“ It is very pretty. Excuse me, papa, I have a 
slight headache, and I am going to my cabin.” 

She kissed her father’s forehead, bowed haugh- 
tily to Orso, and disappeared. Then the two men 
talked about hunting and war. 

They discovered that they had been face to 
face with each other at Waterloo, and must have 
exchanged many balls. Their good understand- 
ing increased on this account. Turn by turn they 
critised Napoleon, Wellington, and Blucher; then 
they hunted deer, wild boars, and wild sheep to- 
gether ; and finally, when night was well advanced, 
and the last bottle of Madeira was finished, the 
colonel shook the lieutenant’s hand again, and 
wished him good-night, expressing the hope of 
continuing an acquaintance begun in such a ri- 
diculous fashion. They separated, and each went 
to bed. 


COLO MB A. 


21 


CHAPTER III. 

The night was beautiful ; the moonlight was 
dancing on the waves, and the ship was sailing 
smoothly on at the will of a light breeze. Miss 
Lydia did not feel inclined to sleep, and it was 
only the presence of an unpoetical person which 
had prevented her from enjoying those emotions 
that a human being who has a grain of poetry in 
his heart feels on the sea by moonlight. As 
soon as she thought that the young lieutenant 
was sound asleep, like the prosaic creature that 
he was, she rose, took her cloak, woke her maid, 
and went on deck. No one was there, excepting a 
sailor at the helm, who was singing in the Corsican 
dialect a kind of dirge set to a wild and monoto- 
nous air. In the stillness of the night this strange 
music had a peculiar charm. Unfortunately Miss 
Lydia did not perfectly understand what the sailor 
was singing. In the midst of many commonplace 
verses one vigorous line aroused her curiosity ; 
but just at the most exciting point the meaning 
of some of the words in patois escaped her. She 
understood, however, that a murder was mentioned. 
Menaces against assassins, threats of vengeance. 


22 


COLO MB A. 


and praise of the dead man were jumbled to- 
gether without any order. She remembered a few 
lines, which I shall try to translate : — 

“ Neither cannons nor bayonets could make his fore- 
head pale, — serene on the battlefield, — as a summer 
sky. — He was the falcon friend of the eagle, — the 
honey of the desert for his friends, — for his enemies 
the angry sea. — Higher than the sun, — gentler than 
the moon. — Him whom the enemies of France dared 
not attack, — assassins of his own country — have struck 
from behind, — as Vittolo killed Sampiero Corso. 1 — 
Never had they dared to look him in the face. — Place 
on the wall, before my bed, — my well-earned cross of the 
Legion of Honor. — The ribbon on it is red. — Redder 
is my shirt. — For my son, my son in a distant country, 
— keep my cross and my bloody shirt. — He will see two 
rents in it. — For each rent let one be made in another 
shirt. — But will vengeance even then be done ? — I 
want the hand that fired, — the eye that took aim, — 
the heart that conceived the thought.” — 

The sailor stopped suddenly. 

“ Why do you not go on, my friend ? ” asked 
Miss Nevil. 

The sailor, by a movement of his hand, showed 
her a figure emerging from the main hatchway of 
the schooner; it was Orso, coming to enjoy the 
moonlight. 


1 See Filippini, Book XI. The name of Vittolo is still held in 
execration among the Corsicans. It is now a synonym of traitor* 



COLO MB A. 23 

“ Do finish your song,” 'said Miss Lydia ; “ I 
liked it very much.” 

The sailor leaned towards her, and said very 
low, “ I never give the rimbecco to any one.” 

“What? the” — 

The sailor, without replying, began to whistle. 

“ I have caught you admiring our Mediterranean, 
Miss Nevil,” said Orso, advancing towards her. 
“ Confess that there is no such moon anywhere 
else.” 

“ I was not looking at it ; I was entirely occu- 
pied in studying Corsican. This sailor, who was 
singing a very tragic dirge, stopped at the most 
exciting place.” 

The sailor stooped, as if to read the compass 
more plainly, and jerked Miss Nevil’s cloak. It 
was evident that his dirge could not be sung be- 
fore Lieutenant Orso. 

“ What were you singing, Paolo France ?” asked 
Orso ; “ was it a ballata ? a vocero ? 1 Made- 

1 When a man is dead, particularly when he has been assassinated, 
his body is placed on a table, and the women of the family, or, they 
failing, his friends, or even stranger women, known for their poetic 
talent, improvise, before a numerous audience, laments in verse, in 
the dialect of the country. These women are called voceratrici , or, 
according to the Corsican pronunciation, buceratrici, and the lament 
is called vocero , buceru, buceratu, on the eastern coast ; ballata , on the 
opposite side. The word vocero , as well as its derivatives, vocerar t 
voceratrice, comes from the Latin vociferare. Sometimes several 
women improvise in turn, and frequently the wife or the daughter of 
the dead man sings the funeral lament herself. 


24 


COLOMBA. 


moiselle understands it, and wants to hear the 
end.” 

“ I have forgotten it, Ors’ Anton’,” said the 
sailor; and he immediately began to sing a hymn 
to the Virgin, at the top of his voice. 

Miss Lydia listened absent-mindedly ; and though 
she did not urge the singer any more, she made up 
her mind to get an explanation of the mysterious 
word. But her maid, a native of Florence, who 
did not understand the Corsican dialect any better 
than her mistress, was also curious to solve the 
enigma; and before Miss Nevil could warn her by 
a nudge, she said to Orso, “ Captain, what does 
‘ give the rimbecco ’ 1 mean ? ” 

“ The rimbecco / ” said Orso ; “ why, that is to do 
a mortal injury to a Corsican; it is to reproach 
him with not having avenged himself. Who has 
said anything to you about the rimbecco ? ” 

“Yesterday at Marseilles,” answered Miss Lydia 
hastily, “ the captain of the schooner used the 
word.” 

“ And of whom was he speaking ? ” Orso asked 
quickly. 

1 Rim.becca.re , in Italian, means to send back, to answer, to throw 
back. In the Corsican dialect it means to address to any one an of- 
fensive reproach in public. To give the rimbecco to the son of an 
assassinated man is to tell him that his father has not been avenged. 
The rimbecco is a kind of reproachful summons to a man who has not 
washed away an injury with blood. The Genoese law punished the 
author of a rimbecco very severely. 


COLOMBA. 


25 


“Oh, he was telling us an old story — of the 
time of — yes, I think it was about Vannina d’Or- 
nano.” 

“I suppose, mademoiselle, that Vannina’s death 
did not make you like our brave hero Sampiero 
very much, did it?” 

“ Do you think he was so very heroic ? ” 

“ His crime is excused by the savage customs of 
the time; and then Sampiero was a mortal enemy 
of the Genoese : how could his countrymen have 
had any confidence in him if he had not punished 
his wife, who was negotiating with Genoa ? ” 

“Vannina had started off without the permission 
of her husband,” said the sailor ; “ Sampiero did 
well to wring her neck.” 

“But it was to save him,” said Miss Lydia; “it 
was for love of him that she went to ask his par- 
don from the Genoese.” 

“ To ask his pardon was to disgrace him ! ” cried 
Orso. 

« And he killed her himself ! ” continued Miss 
Nevil. “ What a monster he must have been ! ” 

“You know that she asked, as a favor, to die 
by his hand. Do you consider Othello a monster, 
mademoiselle ? ” 

“There is a difference! he was jealous; Sampi- 
ero was only vain.” 

“And is not jealousy vanity also? It is the 


26 


COLO MB A. 


vanity of love. Would you excuse it for the sake 
of the motive?” 

Miss Lydia threw him a glance full of dignity, 
and turning towards the sailor asked him when 
the schooner would reach port. 

“Day after to-morrow,” he said, “if the wind 
continues.” 

“ I wish we were now in sight of Ajaccio, for 
this ship wearies me,” said Miss Nevil, rising; and 
taking her maid’s arm, she walked a little on the 
deck. Orso remained motionless near the helm, 
not knowing whether he ought to walk with her, 
or to cease a conversation which seemed to annoy 
Aer. 

Miss Lydia descended almost immediately to her 
cabin. Very soon afterwards Orso retired also. 
When he had left the deck, the maid returned, and 
after having cross-questioned the sailor, carried the 
following information to her mistress : the ballata 
which Orso’s presence had interrupted had been 
composed at the funeral of his father, Colonel 
della Rebbia, who had been assassinated two years 
before. The sailor did not doubt that Orso was 
returning pour faire la vengeance, as he said ; and 
he was sure that before long there would be de la 
viande fraiche to be seen in the village of Pietra- 
nera. That meant that Orso intended to assassi- 
nate two or three persons suspected of killing his 


COLO MB A. 


2 7 


father, who had indeed been brought before the 
courts ; but since they had judges, lawyers, the pre- 
fect, and the police on their side, had been found 
as white as snow. “ There is no such thing as 
justice in Corsica,” added the sailor; “and I should 
value a good gun more than a judge at the royal 
court. One who has an enemy must choose among 
the three S’s .” 1 

This interesting information brought about a 
remarkable change in Miss Lydia’s disposition and 
manner towards Lieutenant della Rebbia. From 
that moment he became a great person in the 
eyes of the romantic Englishwoman. Now his 
careless air, his frankness, and his good humor, 
which had at first produced an unfavorable im- 
pression upon her, seemed all the more admirable, 
because of the great effort which it must have 
required to hide his sentiments in his soul. Orso 
appeared to her a kind of Fiesco, concealing vast 
designs under an appearance of levity; and al- 
though it is less noble to kill a few scoundrels than 
to deliver one’s country, yet vengeance is vengeance ; 
besides, women do not like a hero to be a politician. 
Then Miss Nevil noticed, for the first time, that 
the young lieutenant had very large eyes, white 
teeth, a graceful figure, education, and the manners 

1 A national expression ; that is to say, schiopetto , stiletto , strada, 
— musket, poniard, flight. 


28 


COLO MB A. 


of a gentleman. She often spoke to him during 
the following day, and found his conversation in- 
teresting. She asked a great many questions about 
his country, and he talked well about it. Corsica, 
which he had left when young, to go first to col- 
lege and then to the military school, had remained 
in his mind surrounded with poetic associations. 
He became animated when speaking of its moun- 
tains, its forests, and the peculiar customs of its 
inhabitants. As may easily be imagined, the word 
vengeance occurred more than once in his narra- 
tion ; for it is impossible to speak of the Corsicans 
without either attacking or justifying their pro- 
verbial passion. Orso surprised Miss Nevil con- 
siderably by condemning in a general way the 
interminable hatreds of his countrymen. Among 
the peasants, however, he tried to excuse them, 
and claimed that the vendetta is the duel of the 
poor. “ It is true,” he said, “ that people do not 
murder each other until there has been a regular 
challenge. * Look out for yourself, and I shall 
look out for myself,’ are the sacramental words 
that enemies exchange before laying ambuscades 
for each other. There are more assassinations 
among us,” he added, “than anywhere else; but 
you will never find an ignoble cause of these 
crimes. To be sure we have many murderers, but 
not one thief.” 


COLOMBA. 


29 


When he was speaking about vengeance and 
murder, Miss Lydia watched him closely, but with- 
out discovering the slightest trace of emotion in 
his face. But as she had decided that he had 
sufficient strength of character to render himself 
impenetrable to all eyes, — -her own excepted, of 
course, — she continued to believe firmly that the 
manes of Colonel della Rebbia would not have 
to wait long for the satisfaction that they de- 
manded. The schooner was now in sight of 
Corsica. The captain pointed out the principal 
points on the coast, and although Miss Lydia 
was entirely unacquainted with them, she found 
some pleasure in hearing their names ; there is 
nothing more tiresome than an anonymous land- 
scape. Occasionally Miss Lydia perceived, with 
the colonel’s spyglass, an islander dressed in brown 
cloth, armed with a gun, and mounted on a small 
horse, galloping along the steep slopes. In each 
one of them she believed that she saw a bandit, 
or at least a son going to avenge the death of 
his father; but Orso assured her that they were 
peaceable inhabitants of the neighboring borough 
travelling on business, and that they carried guns 
less because of necessity than because of the 
fashion, just as a dandy does not walk out with- 
out an elegant cane. Although Miss Lydia thought 
a gun less noble and poetical than a stiletto, yet 


30 


COLO MB A. 


for a man it seemed more appropriate than a 
cane ; and she remembered that all of Lord Byron’s 
heroes were killed with balls and not with classic 
poniards. 

After three days more of sailing, our travellers 
found themselves before the Bloody Islands, and 
the magnificent panorama of the Gulf of Ajaccio 
unfolded itself before their eyes. This gulf is 
justly compared to the Bay of Naples ; and at 
the moment when the schooner entered the har- 
bor some burning copsewood, covering the head- 
land of Girato with smoke, suggested Vesuvius, and 
added to the resemblance. In order to make it 
complete, the army of some Attila should come 
down upon the suburbs of Naples; for everything 
around Ajaccio is dead and deserted. Instead of 
the handsome buildings that are to be seen every- 
where from Castellamare to Cape Miseno, there 
is nothing around the Gulf of Ajaccio but sombre 
maquis , and bare mountains beyond. There is 
not a single villa, not a dwelling of any kind ; 
but here and there, on elevations about the town, 
a few isolated white constructions stand out against 
a background of green; these are commemorative 
chapels or family tombs. Everything in this land- 
scape has a grave and sad beauty. 

The aspect of the town, particularly at that 
time, emphasized the impression caused by the 


COLO MB A. 


3 * 


solitude of the surrounding country. There was 
no movement in the streets ; only a few idle fig- 
ures were to be seen, and they always appeared 
to be the same ones. There were no women, ex- 
cepting a few peasants who came to sell their 
goods. There was no loud speaking, no laughing 
and singing, as there is in Italian towns. Some- 
times, in the shadow of a tree near the walk, a 
dozen armed peasants played cards or watched 
others play. They never exclaimed or disputed; 
if the game became exciting, pistol-shots, which 
always preceded threats, would be heard. The 
Corsican is naturally serious and silent. In the 
evening a few persons are accustomed to come 
out and enjoy the cool air, but the promenaders 
on the Corso are nearly all foreigners. The is- 
landers remain in front of their own doors, each 
one seeming to be on the watch, like a falcon 
over his nest. 


32 


COLO MB A. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Two days after the arrival in Corsica, when 
Miss Lydia had visited the house where Napoleon 
was born, and had procured, by more or less le- 
gitimate means, a little paper from the wall-hang- 
ings, she began to feel a deep sadness, as every 
stranger does who finds himself in a country whose 
unsociable inhabitants condemn him to complete 
isolation. She regretted her headstrong act; but 
to return at once would be to compromise her 
reputation as a fearless traveller, so she resigned 
herself to being patient, and to killing time as well 
as she could. With this courageous resolution she 
prepared crayons and paints, sketched views of 
the gulf, and made a portrait of a sunburnt peas- 
ant with a white beard and the appearance of a 
fierce rascal, who was selling melons just as our 
market-gardeners do. Since all that was not enough 
to amuse her, she resolved to turn the head of 
the descendant of the corporals; and this was 
not a difficult thing to do, for, far from being in 
a hurry to see his village again, Orso seemed to 
like Ajaccio, although he did not know any one 
there. Moreover, Miss Lydia had imposed upon 


COL OMB A. 


33 


herself the noble task of civilizing this bear of 
the mountains, and making him renounce the evil 
plans which had brought him back to his island. 
Since she had taken the trouble to study him, 
she had said to herself that it would be a pity 
to allow this young man to go to ruin, and that 
it would be a glorious thing for her to convert a 
Corsican. 

Our travellers spent their days in the following 
manner : in the morning the colonel and Orso went 
hunting, and Miss Lydia either drew or wrote to 
her friends, in order to date her letters from Ajac- 
cio. At about six o’clock the men returned, loaded 
with game ; they dined, Miss Lydia sang, the col- 
onel went to sleep, and the young people sat up 
very late to talk. 

A certain formality about the passport obliged 
Colonel Nevil to pay a visit to the prefect, who, 
bored like the rest of his colleagues, had been de- 
lighted to hear of the arrival of a rich English- 
man, a man of the world and father of a pretty 
girl. He received him cordially, and overwhelmed 
him with kind offers, and even came, a few days 
later, to return his call. The colonel, who had 
just got up from dinner, was comfortably stretched 
out on the sofa ready to go to sleep; his daugh- 
ter was singing at the worn-out piano ; Orso was 
turning over the leaves of her music, and care- 


34 


COLOMBA. 


fully observing the shoulders and the light curls of 
the performer. The prefect was announced ; Miss 
Lydia stopped playing ; and the colonel jumped up, 
rubbed his eyes, and presented the prefect to his 
daughter. “ I need not introduce Monsieur della 
Rebbia, for I suppose you know him,” he said. 

“ The son of Colonel della Rebbia ? ” asked the 
prefect, slightly embarrassed. 

“ Yes, monsieur,” replied Orso. 

“ I had the honor of knowing your father.” 

The commonplace topics of conversation were 
very soon exhausted. The colonel yawned fre- 
quently, in spite of himself ; and Orso, as a liberal, 
did not want to talk with a satellite of the power ; 
so Miss Lydia sustained the conversation alone. 
The prefect, on his part, did not allow it to flag ; and 
it was evident that he took great pleasure in talk- 
ing about Paris and the world to a woman who 
knew all the distinguished persons of European 
society. From time to time, while speaking, he 
observed Orso with strange curiosity. 

“ Did you know Monsieur della Rebbia on the 
Continent ? ” he asked Miss Lydia. 

Miss Lydia replied, with some embarrassment, 
that she had made his acquaintance on the ship 
that had brought them to Corsica. 

“ He is a very well-bred young man,” said the 
prefect in an undertone, “ Has he told you,” he 


COLOMBA. 35 

continued, still lower, “ for what purpose he has 
returned to Corsica?” 

Miss Lydia put on her majestic air, and said, 
“ I have not asked him ; you may do so.” 

The prefect did not reply ; but a moment after- 
wards, hearing Orso address the colonel in English, 
he said, “It seems that you have travelled a great 
deal. You must have forgotten Corsica — and its 
customs.” 

“ That is true. I was very young when I went 
away.” 

“ Do you still belong to the army ? ” 

“ I am on half pay, monsieur.” 

“You have been in the French army long enough 
to have become entirely French, I suppose?” He 
laid a marked emphasis upon these last words. 

To remind Corsicans that they belong to the 
Great Nation is not considered by them particu- 
larly complimentary. They wish to be a separate 
people, and they justify their claim well enough 
to have it granted to them. Orso, a little piqued, 
replied, “ Do you think, monsieur, that a Corsican, 
to be an honorable man, need serve in the French 
army ? ” 

“No, indeed,” said the prefect, “that is not at 
all what I mean. I was thinking only of certain 
customs of this country, some of which an ad- 
ministrator does not like to see,” 


COLO MB A. 


36 

He laid stress upon the word customs, and as- 
sumed the most serious expression that his face 
could wear. Very soon after this he rose and took 
his leave, carrying with him Miss Lydia’s promise 
to go to see his wife at the prefecture. 

When he was gone Miss Lydia said, “ I had 
to come to Corsica to find out what a prefect 
is. This one seemed to me rather amiable.” 

“For my part,” said Orso, “I found him un- 
speakably odd, with his emphatic and mysterious 
air.” 

The colonel was extremely drowsy; Miss Lydia 
glanced towards him, and lowering her voice, said, 
“ I did not find him so mysterious as you pretend 
to have done, for I think I understood him.” 

“You are certainly very keen, Miss Nevil ; if 
you found any wit in what he said, you must have 
put it there.” 

“ That is a sentence worthy of the Marquis of 
Mascarille, Monsieur della Rebbia ; but — may I 
give you a proof of my penetration ? I am some- 
thing of a sorceress, and I know what people 
whom I have seen twice are thinking about.” 

“ Heavens ! you frighten me. If you have 
learned to read my thoughts, I don’t know whether 
I ought to be glad or sorry.” 

“ Monsieur della Rebbia,” continued Miss Lydia, 
blushing, “we have known each other only a few 


COLO MB A. 


3 7 


days ; but at sea, and in uncivilized countries, — 
I hope you will excuse me, — people become 
friends very quickly. So do not be surprised if 
I speak to you as a friend about affairs of a rather 
private character, with which a stranger ought 
perhaps not to meddle.” 

“ Oh ! do not use that word, Miss Nevil ; the 
other pleased me much better.” 

“ Well, I must tell- you that, without having 
tried to learn your secrets, I find that I know 
some of them, and they grieve me. I know about 
the misfortune which has fallen upon your family; 
people have told me a great deal about the vin- 
dictive character of your countrymen, and their 
way of avenging themselves. Did not the prefect 
allude to that ? ” 

“Can you think” — said Orso, becoming as pale 
as death. 

“ No, Monsieur della Rebbia,” she said, inter- 
rupting him ; “ I know that you are an honorable 
man. You told me yourself that no one but the 
poor people in your country practised the vendetta , 
which you are pleased to call a kind of duel.” 

“ Can you believe me capable of becoming an 
assassin ? ” 

“ Since I am talking to you about this, Monsieur 
Orso, you must see plainly that I do not suspect 
you ; and I have spoken to you,” she continued, 


38 


COLOMBA. 


lowering her voice, “ because I thought that in 
your country, in the midst of barbarous prejudices, 
you would be glad to know that there is some one 
who esteems you for your courage in resisting 
them. Now let us not talk any more about these 
wicked things,” she said, rising; “they make my 
head ache, and besides it is very late. You are not 
angry with me ? Good night — in the English fash- 
ion,” and she held out her hand. 

Orso pressed it gravely. 

“Miss Nevil,” he said, “do you know there 
are moments when the instincts of my country 
awake in me ? Sometimes, when I think of my 
poor father, frightful ideas take possession of me. 
Thanks to you, I am delivered from them for- 
ever — thank you, thank you!” 

He would have said more; but Miss Lydia let 
her teaspoon fall, and the noise waked the colo- 
nel. 

“ Della Rebbia ! the hunt at five o’clock to- 
morrow ! Be prompt ! ” 

“ Yes, Colonel.” 


COLOMBA. 


39 


CHAPTER V. 

On the following day, a short time before the 
sportsmen returned, Miss Nevil was going back 
to the inn after a walk on the seashore with her 
maid, when she noticed a young woman, dressed 
in black, entering the town on a small but strong 
horse. She was followed by a kind of peasant, 
also on horseback, who wore a brown cloth coat 
out at the elbows. A gourd was slung over his 
shoulder ; a pistol hung at his belt. He carried 
in his hand a gun, the butt-end of which rested 
in a leather pocket attached to the saddle-bow ; in 
short, his whole costume was that of a brigand 
in a melodrama, or of a Corsican citizen on his 
travels. The remarkable beauty of the woman 
first attracted Miss Nevil’s attention. She seemed 
to be about twenty years old. She was tall and 
pale, with deep blue eyes, red lips, and teeth 
like enamel. In her expression there was at 
once pride, restlessness, and sadness. On her 
head she wore a black silk veil, called a mez- 
zaro, which the Genoese introduced into Cor- 
sica, and which is so becoming to women. Long 
plaits of chestnut hair formed a kind of turban 


40 


CO LOME A. 


around her head. Her costume was neat, but very 
plain. 

Miss Nevil had time to study her, for the lady 
with the mezzaro had stopped some one in the 
street, and was asking questions about something 
which seemed, from the expression of her face, to 
be of great interest to her; then, as soon as the 
reply had been made, she urged on her horse 
with a switch, and setting off at a brisk trot, did 
not draw rein until she reached the door of the 
hotel where Sir Thomas Nevil and Orso were 
living. When the young woman had exchanged 
a few words with the landlord, she sprang lightly 
from her horse, and seated herself on a stone 
bench near the door, while her squire led the 
horses to the stable. Miss Lydia, in her Parisian 
costume, passed in front of the stranger without 
making her raise her eyes. A quarter of an hour 
later, when Miss Lydia opened her window, she 
saw the lady with the mezzaro seated on the 
same spot, in the very same attitude. In a short 
time the colonel and Orso returned from hunting. 
The landlord then said something to the young 
lady in mourning, and pointed out della Rebbia. 
Her face flushed, she rose quickly, took a few 
steps forward, and then stopped, confused. Orso 
was very near her, looking at her narrowly. 

“ Are you Orso Antonio della Rebbia ? ” she 


COLO MB A. 41 

said in a voice filled with emotion. “ I am Co- 
lomba.” 

“ Colomba ! ” cried Orso, seizing her in his 
arms, and kissing her tenderly, to the utter as- 
tonishment of the colonel and his daughter; for 
in England people do not kiss in the street. 

“Brother,” said Colomba, “pardon me for hav- 
ing come without your leave; but I learned from 
our friends that you had arrived, and it was a 
consolation to me to think of seeing you” — 

Orso embraced her again; then, turning towards 
the colonel, he said, — 

“ This is my sister, whom I should never have 
recognized if she had not told me her name. 
Colomba — Colonel Sir Thomas Nevil. Colonel, 
excuse me, but I cannot have the honor of dining 
with you to-day. Sister” — 

“ What ! where will you dine, then, my dear 
fellow ? ” exclaimed the colonel ; “ you know very 
well that they serve only one dinner in this 
wretched inn, and that is for us. Mademoiselle 
will give my daughter much pleasure by joining 
us.” 

“ Colomba looked at her brother, who did not 
require much urging ; and they all entered the 
largest room of the inn, which the colonel used 
for both parlor and dining-room. When Made- 
moiselle della Rebbia was introduced to Miss 


42 


COLO MB A. 


Nevil, she made a low courtesy, but did not say 
a word. It was evident that she was very much 
frightened at finding herself, for the first time in 
her life perhaps, in the presence of strangers who 
were people of the world. Yet there was nothing 
unrefined in her manner. Her strangeness con- 
cealed her awkwardness. She pleased Miss Lydia 
for that very reason; and as there was no dis- 
engaged room in the hotel which the colonel and 
his train had invaded, Miss Lydia offered, out of 
either condescension or curiosity, to have a bed 
made for Mademoiselle della Rebbia in her own 
room. 

Colomba stammered a few words of thanks, 
and hastened to follow Miss Nevil’s maid, in or- 
der to make such arrangements to her toilet as 
are rendered necessary by travelling on horseback 
in the dust and sun. 

On re-entering the parlor she stopped before 
the colonel’s guns, which the hunters had placed 
in a corner. “ What fine weapons ! ” she said ; 
“ are they yours, brother ? ” 

“ No ; they are the colonel’s English guns. 
They are as good as they are beautiful.” 

“ I wish you had one like them,” Colomba 
said. 

“There is certainly one of the three which be- 
longs to della Rebbia,” the colonel explained. 


COLOMBA. 


43 


“ He makes very good use of it. To-day he made 
fourteen shots, and brought down fourteen head 
of game.” 

A combat of generosity immediately began, in 
which Orso was conquered, to the great satis- 
faction of his sister, as it was easy to see from 
the expression of childish joy which suddenly 
lighted up her face, so serious a moment before. 
“ Choose, my friend,” the colonel said. Orso re- 
fused. “Well, your sister shall choose for you.” 
Colomba did not need to be asked twice. She 
took the gun which had the least ornamentation, 
but it was an excellent Manton of large caliber. 
“This one,” she said, “ought to carry a ball a 
long distance.” 

Her brother was becoming confused in his 
thanks, when dinner appeared just in time to get 
him out of his embarrassment. Miss Lydia was 
charmed to see that Colomba, who had been re- 
luctant to sit down at the table, and had yielded 
only at a look from her brother, made the sign 
of the cross before eating) like a good Catholic. 
“ This is primitive,” she said to herself ; and she 
anticipated a great many interesting observations 
upon this young representative of the old cus- 
toms of Corsica. Orso was evidently somewhat 
ill at ease, probably for fear that his sister would 
say or do something which savored too much of 


44 


COLOMBA. 


her village. But Colomba looked at him continu- 
ally, and regulated her movements by his. Some- 
times she watched him fixedly, with a strange 
expression of sadness ; and then, if Orso’s eyes 
met hers, he was the first to look away, as if he 
wished to evade a question mentally addressed to 
him by his sister, which he understood only too 
well. They spoke in French, for the colonel could 
not express himself well in Italian. Colomba un- 
derstood French, and pronounced very well the few 
words that she was obliged to exchange with her 
host and hostess. 

After dinner the colonel, who had noticed the 
constraint which seemed to exist between the 
brother and the sister, asked Orso with his usual 
openness if he did not wish to talk alone with 
Colomba, offering to go with his daughter into 
the adjoining room. But Orso thanked him, and 
said that they would have a great deal of time 
to talk at Pietranera, the village where he was 
going to reside. 

The colonel then took his accustomed place on 
the sofa; and Miss Nevil, having tried several 
subjects of conversation and despaired of making 
the beautiful Colomba talk, begged Orso to read 
to her a canto of Dante, her favorite poet. Orso 
chose from “ The Inferno ” the canto which con- 
tains the story of Francesca da Rimini, and began 


CO LOME A. 


45 


to read, as impressively as he could, those sublime 
tiercets which express so well the danger to two 
persons who read a love-story together. As he 
went on reading, Colomba drew near the table, 
and raised her head, which she had held down ; 
her wide-open eyes shone with unwonted fire ; she 
blushed and paled by turns, and moved convul- 
sively in her chair. How fine the Italian organi- 
zation is, which, in order to understand poetry, 
does not need a scholar to explain its beauties ! 

When the reading was finished she exclaimed, — 

“How beautiful it is! Who wrote it, brother?” 

Orso was a little disconcerted, and Miss Lydia 
smilingly replied that the author was a Floren- 
tine poet who had been dead several centuries. 

“ I shall read Dante to you,” said Orso, “ when 
we are at Pietranera.” 

“ How beautiful it is ! ” Colomba said again ; 
and she repeated three or four tiercets that she 
had remembered, speaking at first in a low voice; 
then, becoming animated, she declaimed them 
aloud with more expression than Orso had put 
into his reading. 

Miss Lydia was filled with astonishment. “You 
seem to be very fond of poetry,” she said. “ How 
I envy you the pleasure you will have in reading 
Dante as a new book!” 

“You see, Miss Nevil,” said Orso, “what power 


46 


COLO MB A. 


the verses of Dante have, by their moving so 
much a little uneducated girl who does not know 
anything but her Pater. But I am mistaken ; I 
remember that Colomba belongs to the profession. 
When a mere child she tried to make poetry ; 
and my father wrote me that she was the great- 
est voceratrice in Pietranera, and for two leagues 
around.” 

Colomba glanced supplicatingly at her brother. 
Miss Nevil had heard of the Corsican improvvisa- 
trici, and was dying with the desire to hear one. 
So she begged Colomba to give her a specimen 
of her talent ; but Orso interposed, much averse 
to being reminded of the poetical disposition of 
his sister. In vain he protested that nothing was 
more insipid than a Corsican ballata, and that to 
recite Corsican verses after those of Dante was 
to betray his country; he only excited Miss Nevil’s 
curiosity, and he finally found himself obliged to 
say to his sister, “Well, improvise something, but 
let it be short.” 

Colomba sighed, and looked attentively for a 
moment at the tablecloth, and then at the beams 
of the ceiling; at last, putting her hand over her 
eyes like those birds which feel safe and believe 
that they are not seen when they themselves do 
not see, sang, or rather declaimed, in an unsteady 
voice, the following serenata : — 


CO LOME A. 


47 


THE YOUNG GIRL AND THE RING-DOVE. 

“ In the valley, far behind the mountains, — the sun 
comes only once a day ; — there is a dark house in 
the valley, — and the grass grows on its threshold. — 
The doors and windows are always closed. — No smoke 
ever rises from its roof. — But at noon, when Hhe sun 
comes, — a window is opened then, — and the orphan 
sits spinning at her wheel : — she spins, and sings 
while working — a song of sadness ; — but no other 
song replies to hers. — One day, a day in springtime, 
— a dove lighted on a neighboring tree, — and heard 
the young girl’s song. — ‘ Dear child,’ it said, ‘ you do 
not weep alone : — a cruel hawk has carried off my 
mate.’ — ‘ Ring-dove, show me the stealing hawk ; — 
were he as high up as the clouds, — I would strike him 
down to earth. — But who will bring to me, a poor 
child, — my brother now in a far country?’ — ‘ Maiden, 
tell me where your brother is, — and my wings shall 
carry me to him.’ ” 

“ What a well-trained dove ! ” exclaimed Orso, 
embracing his sister with an emotion which was 
in contrast with the tone of pleasantry which he 
affected. 

“ Your song is charming,” said Miss Lydia. 
“ I wish you would write it in my album. I 
shall translate it into English, and have it set to 
music.” 

“ The worthy colonel, who had not understood 
a word, added his compliments to those of his 


COLO MB A. 


48 

daughter. Then he added, “Is this ring-dove of 
which you speak, mademoiselle, the bird that we 
ate broiled to-day?” 

Miss Nevil brought her album, and was not a 
little surprised to see the imfirovvisatrice, in writ- 
ing her song, spare the paper in a curious way. 
Instead of being written like poetry, the verses 
followed each other on the same line, as far as 
the width of the leaf permitted, so that they did 
not agree with the usual definition of poetical 
compositions, — short lines of unequal length, with 
a margin on each side. There were many obser- 
vations to be made upon Colomba’s rather capri- 
cious spelling, which made Miss Nevil smile more 
than once, while Orso’s brotherly pride was in 
torture. 

When bedtime arrived, the two young ladies 
retired to their room. While Miss Lydia was 
taking off her necklace, rings, and bracelets, she 
noticed that her companion drew out from her 
dress something as long as a busk, but of very 
different form. Colomba placed it carefully and 
almost stealthily under her mezzaro on the 
table; then she knelt and prayed devoutly. Two 
moments later she was in bed. Miss Lydia, very 
inquisitive by nature, and slow in undressing, as 
Englishwomen are, went to the table, and pre- 
tending to be searching for a pin, lifted the mez- 


COL OMB A. 


49 


zaro, and saw a long stiletto, curiously mounted 
in mother-of-pearl and silver. Its workmanship 
was remarkably fine, and it was a very old and 
expensive weapon for an amateur. 

“ Is it the custom here,” said Miss Nevil with 
a smile, “for young ladies to carry little instru- 
ments like this in their bodices ? ” 

“ It is necessary,” Colomba answered, sighing. 
“ There are so many wicked people ! ” 

“ Should you really have the courage to strike 
like this ? ” 

And Miss Nevil, with the stiletto in her hand, 
struck downward, as they strike at the theatre. 

“ Yes,” said Colomba in her soft, musical 
voice ; “ if it were necessary to protect myself or 
my friends. But that is not the way to use it. 
You might wound yourself, if the person whom 
you were going to strike should draw back.” 
And sitting up, she said, “ There, this is the 
way. Give an upward stroke. They say that a 
blow like this is fatal. How happy the people 
are who do not need such weapons ! ” 

She sighed, let her head fall upon her pillow, 
and closed her eyes. It would be impossible to 
imagine a head more beautiful, more noble, more 
maidenly. Phidias would not have desired a 
more beautiful model for his Minerva. 


50 


C0L0MBA. 


CHAPTER VI. 

In conformity with the precept of Horace, I 
have plunged into the midst of things. Now that 
every one is asleep, — the beautiful Colomba, the 
colonel, and his daughter, — I shall seize this 
moment to tell my reader certain particulars of 
which he must not be ignorant if he wishes to 
penetrate any farther into this true story. He 
already knows that Colonel della Rebbia, Orso’s 
father, had been assassinated. Now, people are 
not assassinated in Corsica, as they are in 
France, by the first escaped convict who cannot 
find any better means of stealing their money 
from them ; they are assassinated by their ene- 
mies ; but it is often very difficult to tell why 
they have enemies. Many families hate each 
other out of old habit, while the tradition of the 
original cause of their hatred is completely lost. 

The family to which Colonel della Rebbia be- 
longed hated several other families, but particu- 
larly the Barricinis. Some people said that in 
the sixteenth century a della Rebbia had been 
stabbed by a Barricini. In any case, there was, 
to use a consecrated expression, blood between 


COLOMBA. 


51 


the two houses. Contrary to custom, however, 
this murder had not caused others. This was be- 
cause the della Rebbia and the Barricini families 
had been equally persecuted by the Genoese gov- 
ernment; and since the young people had been 
exiled, the two families were for several genera- 
tions deprived of their active representatives. At 
the end of the last century a della Rebbia, who 
was an officer in the service of Naples, had a 
quarrel in a gambling-house with some soldiers, 
who called him a “ Corsican goatherd ” and other 
insulting names. He seized his sword ; but alone 
against three, he would have had a hard time, if 
a stranger, who was playing at the same place, 
had not cried out, “ I am a Corsican too,” and 
defended him. This stranger was a Barricini, 
who had not recognized his countryman. When 
they had an explanation, they showed each other 
much courtesy, and vowed eternal friendship ; for 
on the continent Corsicans easily become friends, 
while it is just the opposite in their island. This 
is proved by this circumstance : della Rebbia 
and Barricini were friends as long as they re- 
mained in Italy; but on returning to Corsica, they 
did not often see each other, although they lived 
in the same town, and when they died it was re- 
ported that they had not spoken to each other 
for five or six years. Their sons lived in the 


52 


COLO MB A. 


same way, on ceremony as they say in the island. 
One of them, Ghilfuccio, Orso’s father, was a sol- 
dier; the other, Giudice Barricini, was a lawyer. 
Since they had both become heads of families, 
and were separated by their professions, they had 
almost no occasion to see each other or to hear 
each other spoken of. 

One day, however, about the year 1809, Giu- 
dice read in a newspaper at Bastia that Captain 
Ghilfuccio had just been decorated, and was heard 
to say that he was not surprised, because Gen- 
eral protected the family. At Vienna this 

remark was reported to Ghilfuccio, who said to a 
fellow-countryman, that on his return to Corsica 
he had found Giudice very rich, because he drew 
more money from the lawsuits which he lost than 
from those which he won. It has never been 
known whether he meant to insinuate that the 
lawyer betrayed his clients, or whether he con- 
fined himself to expressing the trivial truth that 
a bad cause brings in more to a lawyer than a 
good one. However that may be, the lawyer 
Barricini heard of the epigram, and did not for- 
get it. In 1812 he asked to be made mayor of 
his village, and had a firm hope of obtaining the 

office, when General wrote to the prefect 

to recommend a relative of Ghilfuccio’s wife. 
The prefect made haste to comply with the gen- 


COLO MB A. 


53 


eral’s wish, and Barricini did not doubt that he 
owed his failure to the intrigues of Ghilfuccio. 
After the fall of the emperor in 1814, the pro- 
tege of the general was denounced as a Bona- 
partist, and was replaced by Barricini. He, in 
his turn, was dismissed in the Hundred Days; 
but after this storm, he again took possession, 
with great pomp, of the official seal and the regis- 
ters of the municipality. 

From this moment his star shone more bril- 
liantly than ever. Colonel della Rebbia, who had 
retired to Pietranera on half-pay, kept up with 
him a ceaseless, although secret warfare of petty 
quarrels. Sometimes he was summoned to repair 
damages done by his horse in the mayor’s enclo- 
sures ; sometimes the mayor, under the pretext of 
restoring the paving-stones of the church, ordered 
the removal of a broken slab engraved with the 
arms of the della Rebbia family, which covered 
the tomb of one of its members. If goats ate the 
colonel’s young saplings, their owners found pro- 
tection with the mayor. The grocer, who kept the 
post-office of Pietranera, and the rural guard, an 
old maimed soldier, both supporters of della Reb- 
bia, were successively dismissed, and their places 
were filled by favorites of Barricini. 

When the colonel’s wife died, she expressed the 
desire to be buried in the middle of a little wood 


54 


CO LOME A. 


where she had been fond of walking. The mayor 
immediately declared that she should be interred 
in the parish cemetery, since he had not been 
authorized to allow an isolated burial-place. The 
furious colonel declared that, while waiting for this 
authorization, his wife should be buried in the 
place that she had chosen ; and he had a grave 
dug there. The mayor, on his part, had one 
made in the cemetery, and called for the police, 
“in order,” as he said, “that law might prevail.” 
On the day of the burial the two parties were 
present, and it was feared that there would be a 
struggle for the remains of Madame della Rebbia. 
About forty well-armed peasants, headed by the 
relatives of the deceased, compelled the priest, in 
going from the church, to take the path to the 
wood ; on the other hand, the mayor, with his two 
sons, his clients, and the police, presented them- 
selves in opposition. When the mayor appeared, 
and summoned the procession to turn back, he 
was received with hoots and threats. His adver- 
saries had the advantage of numbers, and they 
seemed determined. At sight of him several men 
loaded their guns; it was said that one shepherd 
even levelled his musket at him ; but the colonel 
took away the gun, saying, “ Let no one shoot 
without my order.” The mayor, like Panurge, 
“ naturally feared blows ; ” and refusing battle, he 


CO LOME A. 


55 


withdrew with his escort. Then the funeral proces- 
sion went on, and purposely took the longest way, 
in order to pass in front of the mayor’s house. 
As they were filing by, an idiot who had joined 
the train took it into his head to cry out, “ Long 
live the Emperor ! ” Two or three voices echoed 
the cry ; and the partisans of the della Rebbia 
family, becoming more and more excited, suggested 
killing one of the mayor’s oxen, which by chance 
barred their way. Fortunately the colonel pre- 
vented this violence. 

An official report was drawn up ; and the mayor 
made a statement to the prefect in his most sub- 
lime style, in which he pictured divine and human 
laws trampled under foot, the majesty of himself 
the mayor, and that of the priest, unrecognized 
and insulted, and Colonel della Rebbia putting 
himself at the head of a Bonapartist plot to change 
the order of succession to the throne, and to ex- 
cite the citizens to take arms against one another 
— crimes provided for by articles eighty-six and 
ninety-one of the Penal Code. 

The exaggeration of this complaint weakened 
its effect. The colonel wrote to the prefect and 
to the public prosecutor. One of his wife’s rela- 
tives was married to a deputy of the island, an- 
other was cousin of the president of the royal 
court. Thanks to these protections the plot van- 


56 


COLOMBA. 


vshed away, Madame della Rebbia remained in 
the wood, and the idiot was condemned to two 
weeks of imprisonment. 

Lawyer Barricini, ill satisfied with the result of 
this affair, turned his fire in another direction. 
He brought to light an old title-deed, by means 
of which he undertook to contest with the colonel 
the ownership of a certain stream of water which 
turned a mill. A lawsuit followed, which lasted 
a long time. At the end of a year the court 
was about to give its decision apparently in favor 
of the colonel, when Monsieur Barricini put into 
the hands of the public prosecutor a letter signed 
by a certain Agostini, a well-known bandit, who 
threatened him with fire and death if he did not 
give up his claim. It is well known that in Cor- 
sica the protection of bandits is much sought for, 
and that they often take part in private quarrels 
in order to oblige their friends. The mayor was 
turning this letter to account, when a new inci- 
dent occurred to complicate the affair. The ban- 
dit Agostini wrote to the prosecutor to complain 
that some one had counterfeited his handwriting; 
and had thrown doubts upon his character, by 
causing him to be considered a man who made 
a traffic of his influence. “ If I discover the 
forger,” he said, at the close of his letter, “ I 
will punish him exemplarily.” 




CO LOME A. 


57 


It was clear that Agostini did not writa the 
menacing letter to the mayor. The della Reb- 
bias accused the Barricinis of it, and vice versd. 
Threats broke out on both sides, and justice did 
not know where to find the guilty persons. 

In the midst of all this, Colonel Ghilfuccio was 
assassinated. These are the facts as they were 
established in court. On the second of August, 
1 8 — , at nightfall, a woman called Madeleine 
Pietri, who brought grain into Pietranera, heard 
two gun-shots very close together, which seemed 
to come from a hidden path leading to the vil- 
lage, about one hundred and fifty paces from the 
place where she was. Almost immediately she saw 
a man crouching and running along a foot-path 
among the vines, in the direction of the village. 
This man stopped a moment and looked around ; 
but the distance prevented the woman from dis- 
tinguishing his features, and besides, he had in 
his mouth a vine-leaf which concealed almost the 
whole of his face. He signalled with his hand 
to a comrade whom the witness did not see, then 
disappeared among the vines. 

The Pietri woman dropped her burden, ran up 
the path, and found Colonel della Rebbia bathed 
in blood from two bullet-wounds, but still breath- 
ing. Near him lay his gun, loaded and cocked, 
as if he had been defending himself against a 


58 


COLOMBA. 


person who attacked him from the front, when 
another person struck him from behind. He was 
struggling against death ; but there was a rattling 
in his throat, and he could not say a word, a 
fact which the doctors explained by the nature of 
the wounds, which had passed through his lungs. 
The blood choked him ; it flowed slowly, like red 
foam. In vain the Pietri woman lifted him, and 
asked him a few questions. She saw that he 
wished to speak, but he could not make himself 
understood; and noticing that he tried to get his 
hand into his pocket, she pulled out of it a 
little portfolio which she gave to him open. The 
wounded man took the pencil from the portfolio, 
and attempted to write. In fact, the witness saw 
him form several letters with difficulty; but since 
she did not know how to read, she could not 
understand their meaning. Exhausted by this ef- 
fort, the colonel put the portfolio into the woman’s 
hands and pressed them firmly, looking at her in 
a strange way, as if he wished to say (these are 
the words of the witness), “ It is important ; it 
is the name of my assassin ! ” 

The Pietri woman had just reached the village 
when she met Mayor Barricini and his son Vin- 
.centello. It was then almost night. The mayor 
received the portfolio, and hastened to his house 
to put on his official scarf, and to call his secre- 


CO LOME A. 


59 


tary and the police. When alone with young 
Vincentello, Madeleine Pietri proposed going to 
carry aid to the colonel, in case he was still alive; 
but Vincentello replied that if he were to ap- 
proach the implacable enemy of his family, people 
would not fail to accuse him of being the mur- 
derer. A short time afterwards the mayor arrived ; 
and finding the colonel dead, he had the corpse 
carried away, and drew up a lawsuit. 

In spite of the agitation natural on such an 
occasion, Monsieur Barricini hastened to seal up 
the colonel’s portfolio, and to make all the re- 
searches in his power; but none of them led to 
any important discovery. When the examining 
magistrate came they opened the portfolio, and 
saw on a blood-stained page some letters traced 
by a failing hand, but perfectly legible. There 
was written, Agosti — ; and the magistrate did not 
doubt that the colonel had wished to point out 
Agostini as his assassin. However, Colomba della 
Rebbia, who had been summoned by the magis- 
trate, asked to examine the portfolio. After she 
had turned over the leaves for some moments, 
she stretched out her hand towards the mayor, 
and cried, “There is the assassin!” Then, with 
surprising precision and clearness, considering her 
transport of grief, she related that her father had 
received, a few days before, a letter from his son, 


6o 


COLO MB A. 


who had just changed his garrison, and that he 
had burned it after writing Orso’s address with 
a pencil in his portfolio. Now, this address was 
no longer in the portfolio, and Colomba concluded 
that the mayor had torn out the leaf on which 
it had been written, and that it must have been 
the same one on which her father had traced the 
name of the murderer ; and for this name the 
mayor, so Colomba said, had substituted that of 
Agostini. The magistrate saw that a leaf was 
indeed missing from the note-book in which the 
name was written; but he soon noticed that leaves 
were likewise gone from other blank-books of the 
same portfolio, and the witnesses declared that 
the colonel was in the habit of tearing out pages 
when he wanted to light a cigar. Nothing, then, 
was more probable, than that he had burned up 
by mistake the address which he had copied. 
Moreover, it was stated that after the mayor had 
received the portfolio from the Pietri woman, he 
could not have read anything in it on account of 
the darkness. It was proved that he had not 
stopped a moment before entering his house, and 
that the sergeant of the police had accompanied 
him, and had seen him light a lamp, put the port- 
folio in an envelope, and seal it. 

When the sergeant had given his evidence, Co- 
lomba, beside herself, threw herself at his knees, 


COLOMBA . 


6l 


and begged him, by all that he held most sacred, 
to tell whether he had not left the mayor a single 
instant. The sergeant, evidently moved by the 
excitement of the young girl, admitted, after some 
hesitation, that he had gone into an adjoining 
room to look for a piece of foolscap, but that he 
had not remained a minute, and that the mayor 
had talked to him all the time that he was grop- 
ing in a drawer for the paper. He affirmed that 
on his return the bloody portfolio was lying on 
the table, in the very place where the mayor had 
thrown it on entering. 

Monsieur Barricini gave his evidence with the 
greatest calmness. He said that he excused Made- 
moiselle della Rebbia’s passion, and that he would 
condescend to justify himself. He proved that 
he had been in the village all the evening ; that 
his son Vincentello was with him in front of his 
house at the moment of the crime ; and finally 
that his son Orlanduccio, who had been taken 
with fever that very day, had not stirred from 
his bed. He produced all the guns that belonged 
in his house, none of which had been recently 
fired. He added that with regard to the port- 
folio, he had understood its importance at once ; 
that he had sealed it up, and had placed it in 
the hands of his deputy, foreseeing that, by reason 
of his hostility towards the colonel, he might be 


62 


CO LOME A. 


suspected. Lastly, he recalled the fact that Agos- 
tini had threatened with death the person who 
had written the letter under his name, and insinu- 
ated that this wretch had probably suspected the 
colonel, and assassinated him. In the customs 
of bandits a vengeance of this kind for a similar 
motive is not without precedent. 

Five days after the death of Colonel della 
Rebbia, Agostini was surprised by a detachment 
of the Light Infantry, and was killed, though he 
fought bravely. They found upon him a letter 
from Colomba, who implored him to declare 
whether or not he was guilty of the murder with 
which he was charged. Since the bandit made 
no reply, it was generally concluded that he had 
not the courage to tell a girl that he had killed 
her father. However, those persons who knew 
Agostini’s character well said under their breaths, 
that, if he had killed the colonel, he would have 
boasted of it. Another bandit, known by the 
name of Brandolaccio, delivered to Colomba a 
declaration, in which he vouched on his honor 
for his comrade’s innocence; but the only proof 
that he alleged was that Agostini had never said 
to him that he suspected the colonel. 

The outcome of all this was that the Barricinis 
were not put to any annoyance. The examining 
magistrate loaded the mayor with praise; and he, 


COLO MB A. 


63 

on his part, crowned his fine conduct by giving 
up all claim to the stream, for the possession of 
which he had had the lawsuit with Colonel della 
Rebbia. 

According to the custom of the country, Co- 
lomba improvised a ballata before her father’s 
corpse, in the presence of the assembled friends. 
There she gave vent to all her hatred against 
the Barricinis, and formally accused them of the 
assassination, threatening them with the vengeance 
which her brother would wreak upon them. It 
was this ballata , which had become very popu- 
lar, that Miss Lydia heard the sailor sing. On 
hearing of his father’s death, Orso, who was then 
in the north of France, asked for a leave of 
absence, but could not obtain it. At first, after 
receiving his sister’s letter, he had believed that 
the Barricinis were guilty; but soon he received a 
copy of all the evidence, and a special letter from 
the judge almost convinced him that the bandit 
Agostini was the only guilty person. Once every 
three months Colomba wrote to him to repeat her 
suspicions, which she called proofs. In spite of 
himself these accusations made his Corsican blood 
boil, and at times he was not far from sharing his 
sister’s prejudices. Every time that he wrote, how- 
ever, he told her that her statements had no solid 
foundation, and could not be believed. He even 


64 


CO LOME A. 


forbade her, but always vainly, to say anything 
more to him about the affair. Two years passed 
in this way. At the end of that time he was put 
upon half-pay, and then he made up his mind to 
visit his country, not in order to take vengeance 
upon persons whom he believed innocent, but to 
get his sister married, and to sell his small prop- 
erty, if it would bring enough money to enable 
him to live on the Continent. 






COLO MB A. 


65 


CHAPTER VII. 

Either Colomba’s arrival brought forcibly to 
Orso’s mind the remembrance of his home, or 
else he suffered in the presence of his cultivated 
friends on account of his sister’s uncivilized man- 
ners ; for on the following day he announced his 
intention of leaving Ajaccio, and returning to Pie- 
tranera. But he made the colonel promise to make 
a visit in his humble mansion on his way to Bastia, 
and in return he pledged himself to hunt deer, 
pheasants, and wild boars with him. 

The day before his departure, Orso suggested 
taking a walk on the shore of the gulf, instead 
of going hunting. He gave his arm to Miss 
Lydia, and was able to talk with her freely; for 
Colomba had remained in the town to do some 
shopping, and the colonel left them every few 
moments to shoot at gulls and gannets, to the 
great surprise of passers-by, who did not under- 
stand how a man could waste his powder on 
such game. 

They followed the path to the Greek chapel, 
from which there is a very beautiful view of the 
bay; but they paid no attention to it. 


66 


COLOMBA. 


“ Miss Lydia,” said Orso, after a silence so 
long as to have become embarrassing, “frankly, 
what do you think of my sister ? ” 

“ She pleases me very much,” replied Miss 
Nevil. “More than you do,” she added, smiling; 
“for she is truly Corsican, and you are a too 
civilized savage.” 

“Too civilized! Well, in spite of myself, I have 
felt myself become wild again since I set foot on 
this island. Thousands of frightful thoughts dis- 
turb me, torment me, and I needed to talk a little 
with you before burying myself in my wilderness.” 

“You must have courage, monsieur; look at 
your sister’s resignation. She sets an example for 
you.” 

“ Ah, you are deceived. Do not believe in her 
resignation. She has not said a single word to me 
yet, but I have read in every glance, what she ex- 
pects of me.” 

“What does she expect of you?” 

“ Oh, nothing ! Only that I should try whether 
your father’s gun is as good for a man as for a 
partridge.” 

“ What an idea ! What makes you think that, 
when you have just admitted that she has not said 
anything to you? That is atrocious of you.” 

“ If she were not thinking of vengeance she 
would have talked about our father first of all ; 


COLOMBA. 


6 ; 

but she has not spoken of him. She would have 
mentioned the names of those whom she regards 
— wrongl) r , I know — as his murderers. But no, 
not one word ! We Corsicans, you see, are a subtle 
race. My sister knows that she does not hold me 
completely in her power, and she does not want to 
frighten me while I can still escape. When she 
has once led me to the edge of the precipice, my 
head will swim, and she will push me into the 
abyss.” 

Then Orso told Miss Lydia some of the details 
about his father’s death, and gave the principal 
proofs which combined to make him consider 
Agostini the murderer. “Nothing,” he added, 
“has been able to convince Colomba. I saw that 
from her last letter. She has sworn that the Bar- 
ricinis shall die; and — Miss Nevil, you see how 
much confidence I have in you — perhaps they 
would not be alive now, if, by one of those preju- 
dices which are excused by her savage education, 
she had not persuaded herself that the execution of 
vengeance belongs to me, in my position as head 
of the family, and that my honor is at stake.” 

“ Indeed, Monsieur della Rebbia,” said Miss 
Nevil, “you slander your sister.’ 

“No; it is just what you said yourself, — she is 
Corsican ; she thinks what they all think. Do you 
know why I was so sad yesterday ? ” 


68 


COLOMBA. 


« No ; but for some time you have been subject 
to these fits of melancholy. You were more amia- 
ble in the first days of our acquaintance.” 

“Yesterday, on the contrary, I was gayer and 
happier than usual. You had been so good, so 
indulgent to my sister. The colonel and I were 
returning home in a boat, when one of the boatmen 
said to me in his infernal patois, ‘You have killed 
a good deal of game, Ors’ Anton’, but you will find 
Orlanduccio Barricini a little better shot than you 
are.’ ” 

“ Well, what is so dreadful in those words ? Do 
you claim to be such a very skilful hunter ? ” 

“ But don’t you see that the wretch intimated 
that I had not the courage to kill Orlanduccio ? ” 
“ O Monsieur della Rebbia, you make me afraid. 
It appears that the air of your island not only gives 
people the fever, but makes them mad. It is for- 
tunate that we are going to leave very soon.” 

“Not before going to Pietranera. You have 
promised it to my sister.” 

“ If we did not fulfil this promise, we should un- 
doubtedly have to expect some vengeance.” 

“ Do you remember what your father told us the 
other day about the Indians who threaten the di- 
rectors of the Company with starving themselves to 
death if they do not grant their requests ? ” 

“ That is to say that you would let yourself 


COLO MB A. 


69 


starve to death ? I doubt it. You would go one 
day without eating, and then Mademoiselle Co- 
lomba would bring you such an appetizing bruccio 1 
that you would abandon the idea.” 

“Your joking is cruel, Miss Nevil; you ought to 
be lenient with me. You see I am alone here. I 
had only you to hinder me from becoming mad, as 
you say. You have been my guardian angel, and 
now ” — 

“ Now,” said Miss Lydia, in a serious tone, “ you 
have, to sustain that reason which is so easily dis- 
turbed, your honor as a man and a soldier, and,” 
she continued, turning aside to pick a flower, “if 
it will be a help to you, the remembrance of your 
guardian angel.” 

“ O Miss Nevil, if I could only think that you 
real!) took some interest ” — 

“ Listen to me, Monsieur della Rebbia,” said 
Miss Nevil with emotion; “since you are a child, 
I shall treat you as a child. When I was a little 
girl, my mother gave me a beautiful necklace which 
I had eagerly longed for ; but she said to me, 
4 Every time that you put this necklace on, remem- 
ber that you do not yet know French.’ The neck- 
lace lost some of its worth in my eyes, but it 
became a kind of goad to me ; I wore it, and I 

1 A kind of cheese cooked with cream. It is a national dish in 
Corsica. 


70 


COLO MB A. 


learned French. Have you noticed this ring? It 
is an Egyptian scarabee, found, allow me to say, 
in a pyramid. This strange figure, which you per- 
haps take for a bottle, signifies human life. There 
are people in my country who would find that hier- 
oglyphic very appropriate. This next figuie is a 
shield, with an arm holding a lance; that means 
combat , battle. Then the union of the two charac- 
ters forms this motto, which I find very beautiful : 
Life is a combat. Now, do not think that I trans- 
late hieroglyphics readily ; a learned man .explained 
these to me. Here, I will give you my scarabee. 
Whenever you have a wicked Corsican thought, 
look at my talisman, and say to yourself that we 
must come forth conquerors from the battle to 
which our evil passions deliver us. Indeed, 1 do 
not preach badly ! ” 

“ I shall think of you, Miss Nevil, and I shall 
say to myself ” — 

“ Say to yourself that you have a friend who 
would be very sorry — to — know that you were 
hanged. Besides, it would grieve your ancestors, 
the corporals ! ” With these words she let go of 
Orso’s arm, laughing, and running to her father, 
said, “ Papa, do leave those poor birds, and come 
into Napoleon’s grotto to make poetry with us.” 


COLOMBA. 


7 1 


CHAPTER VIII. 

There is always something solemn about a 
departure, even though the separation is for a 
short time. Orso was going to set off with his 
sister early in the morning ; and he had taken leave 
of Miss Lydia the night before, for he had not sup- 
posed that she would break her indolent habits for 
his sake. Their good-bys had been formal and 
serious. Since their conversation on the seashore, 
Miss Lydia had feared that she had shown a too 
lively interest in Orso ; while Orso, on his part, 
felt aggrieved by her raillery and her jesting tone. 
At one moment he had believed that he per- 
ceived in the manners of the Englishwoman a 
sentiment of growing affection ; but now, baffled 
by her pleasantries, he told himself that he was 
in her eyes a mere acquaintance, who would soon 
be forgotten. Great was his surprise, therefore, 
when taking coffee with the colonel, to see Miss 
Lydia enter, followed by his sister. She had risen 
at five o’clock, an effort which for an English- 
woman, and particularly for Miss Nevil, was great 
enough to arouse some vanity in him. 

“ I am sorry that you have been disturbed this 


72 


COLO MB A. 


morning,” said Orso. “ Doubtless my sister woke 
you in spite of my request to the contrary, and 
you must detest us. Perhaps you wish I were 
already hanged?” 

“No,” said Miss Lydia very low in Italian, 
evidently so that her father could not understand ; 
“but you were sulky with me yesterday for my 
innocent joking, and I did not want you to carry 
away an unpleasant remembrance of me. What 
dreadful people you Corsicans are ! ” Then, ex- 
tending her hand, she added, “Good-by: we shall 
see you again soon, I hope.” 

Orso found nothing but a sigh for reply. Co- 
lomba went to him, led him to the embrasure of 
a window, and while showing him something which 
she carried under her 7nezzaro , talked with him 
in a low voice. 

“ My sister wishes to give you a peculiar gift,” 
said Orso to Miss Nevil; “but we Corsicans 
have not much to give, excepting our affection, 
which time does not efface. My sister says that 
you have examined this stiletto with some curi- 
osity. It is an heirloom. Probably it once hung 
at the belt of one of those corporals to whom I 
owe the honor of your acquaintance. Colomba 
considers it so precious that she has asked my 
permission to give it to you; and I do not know 
whether I ought to grant it or not, for I am afraid 
you will laugh at us.” 


COLO MB A. 


73 


“The stiletto is indeed beautiful,” said Miss 
Lydia ; “ but since it is a family weapon, I cannot 
accept it.” 

“ It is not my father’s stiletto,” Colomba ex- 
claimed quickly. “It was given to one of my 
mother’s grandparents by King Theodore. If you 
will accept it, you will give us great pleasure.” 

“ Please, Miss Lydia,” said Orso, “ do not dis- 
dain the stiletto of a king.” 

To an amateur, the relics of King Theodore are 
infinitely more precious than those of the most 
powerful monarch. The temptation was great ; and 
Miss Lydia already saw the effect that this weapon 
would have, lying upon a lacquered table in her 
apartment at St. James’s Place. “ But,” she said, 
taking the stiletto with the hesitation of one who 
wishes to accept, and smiling at Colomba in the 
pleasantest way, “ dear Mademoiselle Colomba, 
I cannot — I should not dare to leave you thus 
disarmed.” 

“ My brother is with me,” said Colomba proudly; 
“ and we have the good gun that your father gave 
us. Have you loaded it, Orso?” 

Miss Nevil kept the stiletto; and Colomba, to 
charm away the danger that is run in giving cut- 
ting or piercing weapons to one’s friends, exacted 
a sou in payment. 

At last it was time to go. Orso shook Miss 


74 


COLOMBA. 


Nevil’s hand once more. Colomba embraced her, 
and then offered her rosy lips to the colonel, who 
was quite astonished at her Corsican politeness. 
At the parlor window Miss Lydia watched the 
brother and sister mount their horses. Colomba’s 
eyes shone with a malignant joy which she had 
never seen in them before. ^This tall, strong 
woman, fanatical in her ideas of barbarian honor, 
with pride written upon her forehead, and her lips 
curled with a sardonic smile, leading away this 
young man armed as if on some sinister expedition, 
recalled to her Orso’s fears, and she thought she 
saw his evil genius dragging him to his ruin. 
Orso, already on his horse, looked up and saw 
her. He either guessed her thoughts or wished to 
bid her a last farewell ; for he raised to his lips 
the Egyptian ring, which he wore suspended upon 
a ribbon. Miss Lydia, blushing, moved away from 
the window; then, returning almost immediately, 
she saw the two Corsicans gallop rapidly away on 
their ponies. Half an hour afterwards the colonel, 
by means of his field-glass, showed them to her, 
travelling along the most distant part of the gulf 
coast, and she saw that Orso frequently turned his 
head toward the town. At last he disappeared 
behind the marshes, which are now replaced by a 
fine nursery-garden. 

Miss Lydia, on looking in her glass, found her- 


COLOMBA. 


75 


self pale. “What must this young man think of 
me ? ” she said ; “ and as for me, what do I think 
of him ? and why do I think of him ? A travelling 
acquaintance ! What did I come to Corsica to 
do ? Oh, I do not love him — no, no ! Besides, 
it is impossible. And Colomba — I, the sister-in- 
law of a 7 >oceratrice who carries a great stiletto ! ” 
And finding that she had that of King Theo- 
dore in her hand, she threw it on her toilet-table. 
“ Colomba in London, dancing at Almack’s ! Good 
heavens, what a lion she would be to exhibit! 
Perhaps she would be in great vogue. He loves 
me, I am sure. He is a hero whose adventurous 
career I have interrupted. But did he really want 
to avenge his father in the Corsican fashion? He 
was something between a Conrad and a dandy. I 
have made a pure dandy of him, and a dandy who 
has a Corsican tailor ! ” 

She threw herself on her bed and tried to go 
to sleep, but that was impossible. I shall not 
undertake to continue her monologue, in which she 
said more than a hundred times that Monsieur della 
Rebbia had not been, was not, and never would 
be, anything to her. 


76 


COLO MB A. 


CHAPTER IX. 

In the meantime Orso was going on his way 
with his sister. At first the speed of their 
horses hindered them from talking; but when the 
steep hills obliged them to go slowly, they ex- 
changed a few remarks about the friends they 
had just left. Colomba spoke with enthusiasm 
of Miss Nevil’s beauty, of her light hair and her 
gracious manners. Then she asked if the colonel 
was as rich as he appeared to be, and if Miss 
Lydia was his only daughter. “ She would be a 
good match,” she said ; “ her father seems to 
have a great deal of friendship for you.” And 
as Orso did not reply, she continued, “ Our fam- 
ily was once rich, and it is now one of the most 
honored in the island. The only nobility is in 
the families of corporals; and you know, Orso, 
that you are descended from the first corporals 
of the island. You know that our family ori- 
ginated on the other side of the mountains , 1 and 
that the civil wars compelled us to cross to this 

1 That is, on the east side. This much-used expression, di Ih dei 
monti, changes its meaning according to the position of the person who 
uses it. Corsica is divided from north to south by a chain of moun- 
tains. 





COLO MB A. 



77 

side. If I were in your place, Orso, I should 
not hesitate to ask Miss Nevil from her father.” 
Orso shrugged his shoulders. “With her dowry 
I should buy the Falsetta woods and the vine- 
yards below our land. I should build a free- 
stone house; and I should add one story to the 
old tower in which Sambuccio killed so many 
Moors at the time of Count Henry, the hand- 
some lord.” 

“ Colomba, you are a fool ! ” answered Orso, 
starting into a trot. 

“You are a man, Ors’ Anton’, and you doubt- 
less know better than a woman does what you 
ought to do. But I should like to know what 
this Englishwoman could object to in an alliance 
with us. Do they have corporals in England ? ” 

After a rather long journey spent in talking in 
this way, the brother and the sister arrived at a 
little village not far from Bocognano, where they 
stopped to dine and to pass the night with a 
friend of their family. They were received with 
that Corsican hospitality which can be appreci- 
ated only by those who are acquainted with it. 
The next day their host, who had stood as god- 
father with Madame della Rebbia, accompanied 
them a league from his house. 

“You see these woods and maquis ,” he said 
as they separated ; “ a man who has committed a 


73 


COLO MB A. 


murder could live there in peace for ten years 
without being hunted out by the police or by 
sharpshooters. These woods border on the forest 
of Vizzavona, and one who has friends in or 
near Bocognano would not want for anything. 
You have a fine gun there; it ought to carry a 
long distance. Blood of the Madonna ! what cal- 
iber ! You could kill something better than wild 
boars with that.” 

Orso replied coldly that his gun was English, 
and carried the shot very far. They greeted each 
other, and each went his own way. 

Our travellers were only a short distance from 
Pietranera when they discovered, at the entrance 
of a defile through which it was necessary for 
them to pass, seven or eight men armed with 
guns, some of whom were seated upon stones, 
others lying on the grass, and the remainder 
standing and seeming to be on the watch. 
Their horses were grazing a short distance 
away. Colomba examined them for a moment 
with a field-glass, which she drew from one of 
the large leather pouches that all Corsicans 
carry when they travel. 

“ Those are our people,” she cried joyfully. 
“ Pieruccio has fulfilled his commission well.” 

“ What people ? ” Orso demanded. 

“ Our shepherds,” she replied. “ Night before 


CO LOME A. 


79 


last I sent Pieruccio away, that he might collect 
these brave men to accompany you home. It is 
not suitable for you to enter Pietranera without 
escort, and besides, you ought to know that the 
Barricinis are capable of anything.” 

“ Colomba,” Orso said severely, “ I have asked 
you many times not to speak to me of the 
Barricinis or of your groundless suspicions. I 
certainly shall not make myself ridiculous by re- 
turning home with this troop of idle fellows, and 
I am very much displeased that you have called 
them together without consulting me.” 

“ Brother, you have forgotten your country. It 
belongs to me to guard you, when your own im- 
prudence exposes you to danger. I did only 
what I ought to do.” 

At this moment the peasants perceived them, 
mounted their horses, and galloped down to meet 
them. 

“ Hurrah for Ors’ Anton’ ! ” cried a white-haired, 
robust old man, wrapped, in spite of the heat, in 
a hooded cloak made of Corsican cloth, thicker 
than the fleece of his sheep. “He is the very 
picture of his father, only taller and stronger. 
What a fine gun ! That gun will make a repu- 
tation for itself, Ors’ Anton’ ! ” 

“ Hurrah for Ors’ Anton’ ! ” repeated all the 
shepherds in chorus. “ We were sure that he 
would come back at last.” 


So 


CO LOME A. 


“ O Ors’ Anton’,’’ said a tall fellow with a 
brick-colored complexion, “wouldn’t your father 
be glad if he were here to receive you! He 
would be here now if he had been willing to 
trust me — if he had let me transact his business 
with Giudice. Dear man! he did not believe me. 
Now he knows that I was right.” 

“ Well,” answered the old man, “ Giudice won’t 
lose anything by waiting.” 

“ Long live Ors’ Anton’ ! ” they cried ; and a 
dozen gun-shots accompanied the salute. 

Orso, in the midst of the group of mounted men, 
all talking at the same time and pressing up to 
shake hands with him, was in a very bad humor, 
and could not make himself heard for some time. 
Finally, taking the air of authority which he was 
accustomed to assume at the head of his company 
when he reprimanded them and assigned to them 
days of confinement in the guard-room, he said, — 

“Friends, I thank you for the affection which 
you show me, and for that which you felt for my 
father; but I do not expect, and do not wish, any 
one to give me advice. I know what I have to 
do.” 

“ He is right ; he is right ! ” shouted the shep- 
herds. “You know well that you can count upon 
us.” 

“Yes, I am sure of that; but I do not need any 


COLO MBA. 


8 1 


one now, and no danger threatens my house. Now 
face about, and go back to your goats. I know 
the way to Pietranera, and I do not need guides.” 

“ Don’t be afraid, Ors’ Anton’,’’ said the old 
man; “ they will not dare show themselves to-day. 
The mouse darts back into his hole when the tom- 
cat appears.” 

“ Tom-cat yourself, you old white-beard ! ” said 
Orso. “ What is your name ? ” 

“Why, don’t you know me, Ors’ Anton’, when I 
have carried you behind me so often on my mule 
that bites ? Don’t you know Polo Griffo ? I am a 
good man, and devoted body and soul to the della 
Rebbias. Say the word, and when your big gun 
speaks, this old musket of mine, old as its master* 
will not be silent. Rely upon that, Ors’ Anton’.” 

“Well, well — but now be off, and let us con- 
tinue our way.” 

At last the shepherds withdrew, and trotted rap- 
idly towards the village ; but they stopped from 
time to time, on all the elevated points of the road, 
as if to discover whether there were not some hid- 
den ambuscade, and they always kept near enough 
to Orso and his sister to be ready to give them aid 
if it should be necessary. Old Polo Griffo said to 
his companions, “ I understand him ; I understand 
him ! He did not say what he wanted to do, but 
he will do it. He is the very picture of his father. 


8 2 


COLO MB A. 


Well, say that you don’t need any one, — you have 
made a vow to Saint Nega. 1 Bravo ! I wouldn’t 
give a fig for the mayor’s skin. Within a month it 
will have a bullet-hole in it. 

The descendant of the della Rebbias, preceded 
in this way by a troop of scouts, entered his village, 
and reached the old manor of the corporals, his 
ancestors. The Rebbianists, who had long been 
deprived of chiefs, had come in a body to meet 
him, and those inhabitants of the town who took a 
neutral position were on their thresholds to see him 
pass by. The Barricinists remained in their houses, 
and peered out through the cracks in their shutters. 

The borough of Pietranera is built very irregu- 
larly, like all Corsican villages. In order to see a 
street one would have to go to Cargese, which was 
laid out by Monsieur de Marbceuf. The houses, 
scattered about at random, without the slightest 
regularity, occupy the top of a little plateau, or 
rather shelf, of the mountain. Near the middle of 
the borough a great green oak rears itself ; and near 
it there is a granite trough, into which a wooden 
pipe brings water from a neighboring spring. This 
monument of public utility was constructed at the 
joint expense of the della Rebbias and the Barri- 
cinis ; but it would be a great mistake to consider 

1 This saint is not found in the calendar. To vow to Saint Nega is 
to deny a course determined upon. 


COLO MB A. 


83 


this an indication of the former agreement of the 
two families. On the contrary, it is the work of 
their jealousy. At one time, when Colonel della 
Rebbia had sent to the municipal council of his 
parish a small sum to be contributed to the erection 
of a fountain, the lawyer Barricini made haste to 
offer a like gift ; and to this combat of generosity 
Pietranera owes its water. Around the green oak 
and the fountain is an empty space called the 
square, where idlers assemble in the evening. 
Sometimes they play cards; and once a year, at 
carnival time, they dance. At the two ends of the 
square are buildings, higher than they are wide, 
built of granite and slate. These are the hostile 
towers of the della Rebbias and the Barricinis. 
Their architecture is alike, their height is the same, 
and it is evident that the rivalry between the two 
families is always maintained without fortune de- 
ciding between them. 

It is perhaps expedient to explain here what is 
meant by a tower. It is a square building about 
forty feet high, which in any other country would 
very properly be called a pigeon-house. The nar- 
row door opens about eight feet from the ground, 
and is reached by a very steep flight of steps. 

Above the door is a window with a kind of bal- 
cony, the floor of which is pierced with openings 
like a machicolation, which permit one to shoot an 


8 4 


COLOMBA. 


indiscreet assailant without risk. Between the win- 
dow and the door are two rudely carved escutch- 
eons. One of them formerly showed the Genoese 
cross ; but to-day it is quite battered down, and is 
intelligible only to antiquaries. On the other es- 
cutcheon are carved the armorial bearings of the 
family that owns the tower. To complete the deco- 
ration, add some bullet-marks to the escutcheons 
and the window-frames, and you can form an idea 
of a manor house of the Middle Ages in Corsica. 
I forgot to say that the dwelling-houses are near 
the towers, and are often attached to them by an 
interior communication. 

The tower and house of the della Rebbias oc- 
cupies the north side of the square of Pietranera ; 
the tower and house of the Barricinis, the south 
side. From the northern tower to the fountain 
extends the della Rebbia walk, while the Barrie ini 
walk is on the opposite side. Since the burial of 
the colonel’s wife, no member of these families 
had been seen to appear in any other part of the 
square than that which tacit agreement had as- 
signed to him. In order to avoid a roundabout 
way, Orso was going to pass in front of the mayor’s 
house, when his sister warned him, and tried to 
induce him to take a lane which would lead him 
to their house without crossing the square. 

“Why should we trouble ourselves?” said Orso ; 


COLO MB A. 85 

“does not the square belong to everybody? ” And 
he urged on his horse. 

“ Brave heart ! ” said Colomba to herself. 
“Father, you are avenged!” 

In the square Colomba placed herself between 
her brother and the Barricini house, and kept her 
eyes fixed upon her enemies’ windows. She had 
noticed that they had been barricaded for some 
time, and that they had contrived archere. These 
are narrow openings, in the form of loopholes, 
made between large logs of wood with which they 
block up the lower part of a window. When an 
attack is to be feared, a barricade of this kind is 
made, and it is possible to fire upon the assailants 
under cover of the logs. 

“ Cowards ! ” Colomba said. “ See, brother, they 
have already begun to put themselves on guard. 
They are barricading themselves; but they will 
have to come out some day ! ” 

Orso’s presence on the south side of the square 
caused a great sensation at Pietranera, and was 
considered a proof of audacity which almost 
amounted to rashness. It was the topic upon 
which those neutral persons who met in the even- 
ing around the green oak made almost endless 
comments. “It is fortunate,” said one, “ that Bar- 
ricini’s sons have not yet come back, for they have 
less forbearance than the lawyer, and probably 


86 


COLO MB A. 


would not have allowed the enemy to pass across 
their land without making him pay for his threat- 
ening behavior.” — “ Remember what I say to you, 
neighbor,” added an old man, the oracle of the 
borough, “ I studied Colomba’s face to-day, and 
saw that she had something on her mind. I smell 
powder in the air. Before long there will be 
butcher’s meat cheap at Pietranera.” 


COLO MB A. 


37 


CHAPTER X. 

Orso had been separated from his father when 
very young, and had therefore had hardly time to 
become acquainted with him. At the age of fifteen 
he left Pietranera to study at Pisa, and went from 
there to the military school, while Ghilfuccio was 
leading the imperial standards over Europe. Orso 
had seen him on the Continent at rare intervals, but 
it was not until 1815 that he found himself in the 
regiment that his father commanded. The colonel, 
a rigid disciplinarian, treated his son, like all the 
other young lieutenants, with much severity. Orso’s 
recollections of him were of two kinds. He re- 
membered how, at Pietranera, his father had in- 

I 

trusted his sword to him, allowed him to fire his 
gun when he returned from hunting, or made him 
sit for the first time at the family table when he 
was a very little boy. Then he remembered Colo- 
nel della Rebbia putting him under arrest for 
some blunder, and never calling him anything but 
Lieutenant della Rebbia. “ Lieutenant della Reb- 
bia, he would say, “you are not in your place in 
the line — three days imprisonment.” “Your sharp- 
shooters are five meters too far from the reserve 


88 


COLO MB A. 


— five days imprisonment.” “You are wearing 
your undress cap at five minutes after noon — 
a week’s imprisonment.” Only once, at Quatre- 
Bras, he had said to him, “Well done, Orso ; but 
be prudent.” These last reminiscences, however, 
were not those which Pietranera recalled to him. 
The sight of the places familiar to his childhood, 
the furniture that his dearly loved mother had 
used, excited in his heart a throng of sweet and 
painful emotions. Then the dark future which was 
preparing itself for him ; the vague restlessness 
which his sister inspired in him; and, above all, 
the idea that Miss Nevil was coming to his house, 
which now seemed to him so small, so poor, so 
inconvenient for a person accustomed to luxury; 
the contempt that she would perhaps feel for it, — 
all these thoughts created confusion in his mind, 
and filled him with profound discouragement. 

He seated himself for supper in a great armchair 
of darkened oak, in which his father used to pre- 
side at the family meals, and smiled to see Colomba 
hesitate to sit at the table with him. He was 
grateful to her for her silence during supper, and for 
the prompt withdrawal that she made afterwards ; for 
he felt too wrought up to resist the attacks that she 
was undoubtedly preparing for him. But Colomba 
spared him, wishing to give him time to reflect. 
He remained a long time motionless, with his head 


COLO MB A. 


89 

supported on his hand, reviewing in his mind the 
scenes of the last two weeks of his life. He real- 
ized with horror the expectation that every one 
felt with regard to his conduct towards the Barri- 
cinis. He discovered that the opinion of Pietra- 
nera was already becoming for him the opinion of 
the world. He was bound to avenge himself under 
pain of passing for a coward. But upon whom 
should he take vengeance? He could not believe 
the Barricinis capable of committing murder. They 
were, indeed, the enemies of his family; yet in order 
to attribute an assassination to them, he must have 
the rude prejudices of his fellow-countrymen. 

Sometimes he looked at Miss Nevil’s talisman, 
and inwardly repeated the motto : “ Life is a 
combat.” Finally he said resolutely to himself, 
“ I will come out of it a conqueror.” Upon this 
thought he rose, took the lamp, and was about to 
go up-stairs to his room, when some one knocked 
at the door. The hour was unseasonable for 
receiving a call. Colomba at once made her ap- 
pearance, followed by the serving-woman. “ It is 
nobody,” she said, running to the door. However, 
before opening, she asked who knocked. A soft 
voice replied, “ It’s me.” At once the wooden 
bar placed across the door was raised, and Colomba 
entered the dining-room, followed by a little bare- 
footed, ragged girl about ten years old, whose long 


9 o 


COLO MB A. 


black locks had escaped from the shabby kerchief 
which she wore on her head. The child was thin 
and pale, and her skin was burned by the sun, 
but the light of intelligence shone in her eyes. 
On seeing Orso she stopped shyly, and made a 
courtesy in the country fashion; then she spoke 
to Colomba in a low voice, and put into her hands 
a pheasant, just killed. 

“ Thank you, Chili,” said Colomba. “ Thank 
your uncle. Is he well ? ” 

“Very well, mademoiselle, at your service. I 
couldn’t come sooner, because he was late. I 
stayed in the maquis three hours waiting for him.” 

“Have you not had supper?” 

“Why, no, mademoiselle; I haven’t had time.” 

“ I must give you some supper. Has your uncle 
any bread left ? ” 

“ A little, mademoiselle ; but he wants powder 
more than anything. Now that the chestnuts are 
ripe, he doesn’t need anything but powder.” 

“ I am going to give you a loaf of bread for him, 
and some powder. Tell him to be sparing of it; 
it is dear.” 

“Colomba,” said Orso in French, “to whom are 
you giving alms ? ” 

“To a poor bandit of the village,” Colomba re- 
plied in the same language. “ This little girl is his 
niece.” 




COLO MB A. 


91 


“It seems to me that you might place your gifts 
better. Why do you send powder to a rascal who 
will use it only to commit crimes? If it were not 
for this deplorable weakness that every one here 
seems to have for bandits, they would have disap- 
peared from Corsica long ago.” 

“ Those who live in the bush 1 are not the worst 
people of our country.” 

“ Give them bread, if you like — we ought not to 
refuse that to any one ; but I forbid your furnishing 
them with ammunition.” 

“Brother,” said Colomba in a grave tone, “you 
are master here, and everything in the house be- 
longs to you ; but I tell you I will give my mezzaro 
to this child to be sold rather than refuse powder 
to a bandit. Refuse him powder! You might as 
well deliver him over to the police. What pro- 
tection has he against them excepting his car- 
tridges ? ” 

Meanwhile the child was greedily devouring a 
piece of bread, and gazing attentively at Colomba 
and her brother, trying to understand from their 
eyes the sense of what they said. 

“ What has your bandit done? For what crime 
has he thrown himself into the ?naquis ? ” 


1 To be in the bush means to be a bandit. Bandit is not an odious 
term; it is used in the sense of banished, and corresponds to the 
word outlaw in the English ballads. 


92 


COLOMBA. 


“ Brandolaccio has not committed any crime,” 
Colomba cried. “He killed Giovan’ Opizzo, who 
assassinated his father while he was in the army.” 

Orso turned away, took the lamp, and went up to 
his room. Then Colomba gave powder and pro- 
visions to the child, and led her to the door, saying, 
“ Above all, see that your uncle watches well over 
Orso.” 


COLO MB A. 


93 


CHAPTER XI. 

It took Orso a long time to go to sleep ; and he 
consequently awoke very late, at least for a Corsi- 
can. The first thing he saw on rising was the 
house of his enemies, and the archere that they had 
just set up. He went down-stairs and asked for 
his sister. “ She is in the kitchen casting bullets,” 
answered the servant Saveria. Thus he could not 
take a step without being followed by the image of 
war. 

He found Colomba seated on a stool, surrounded by 
ready-cast bullets, cutting off the trimmings of lead. 

“ What are you doing there ? ” asked her brother. 

“ You had no balls for the colonel’s gun,” she 
answered in her mild voice ; “ I found a mould of 
the right bore, and now you have twenty-four car- 
tridges, brother.” 

“ I don’t need them, thank God ! ” 

“ You must not be caught unprovided^ Ors’ An- 
ton’. You have forgotten your country and the 
people who are about you.” 

“ If I had forgotten, you would very quickly have 
reminded me. Tell me, did not a large trunk ar- 
rive a few days ago ? ” 


94 


CO LOME A. 


“Yes; shall I carry it up to your room?” 

“ You carry it up ! You would never have the 
strength to lift it. Isn’t there some man to do 
it?” 

“ I am not so weak as you think,” said Colomba, 
tucking up her sleeves and revealing a white, round 
arm, which, though perfectly formed, showed un- 
usual strength. “ Here, Saveria,” she said to the 
maid, “ help me.” She was just lifting the heavy 
trunk alone, when Orso hastened to assist her. 

“ There is something for you in this trunk, 
Colomba dear,” he said. “Excuse me if I make 
poor presents, but the purse of a lieutenant on 
half pay is not very well stocked.” While speak- 
ing, he opened the trunk, and drew out some 
dresses, a shawl, and other articles suitable for a 
young lady. 

“ What beautiful things ! ” Colomba exclaimed, 
kissing her brother’s hand. “I am going to stow 
them away quickly, so that they will not be 
spoiled. I shall keep them for my wedding,” she 
added with a sad smile ; “ for now I am in 
mourning.” 

“ There is affectation, sister, in wearing mourn- 
ing so long.” 

“ I have sworn to do it,” Colomba said firmly. 
“ I shall not leave off mourning ” — and she 
looked out of the window at the Barricini house. 


CO LOME A. 95 

“Until the day of your marriage?” said Orso, 
trying to evade the end of the phrase. 

“ I shall marry only a man who h*as done 
three things,” Colomba said, still surveying the 
hated house with a sinister expression. 

“ I am astonished that you are not yet mar- 
ried, Colomba, pretty as you are. Here, tell me 
who is courting you. I shall like to hear his 
serenades. They must be beautiful to please a 
great voceratrice like you.” 

“ Who would want a poor orphan ? And then, 
the man who makes me put off mourning will 
have to make the women over there put it on.” 

“ What folly ! ” said Orso to himself. But he 
did not reply, for the sake of avoiding a discus- 
sion. 

“ Brother,” said Colomba in a coaxing tone, 
“ I, too, have something to offer you. The 
clothes that you are wearing are too fine for this 
country. Your pretty frock coat would be torn 
to pieces within two days if you wore it in the 
maquis. You must keep it for the time when 
Miss Nevil comes.” Then, opening a closet, she 
took out a complete hunting-costume. “ I have 
made you a velvet jacket, and here is a cap 
such as our fashionable men wear. I embroi- 
dered it for you a long time ago. Will you try 
this on ? ” 


COLO MB A. 


96 

She made him put on a large green velvet 
jacket with an enormous pocket in the back ; 
and then she placed on his head a pointed cap 
of black velvet, embroidered with jet and silk of 
the same color, and finished at the top with a 
kind of tassel. 

“ Here is father’s cartridge-belt,” she said ; 
“his stiletto is in the pocket of your jacket. I 
am going to- look for the pistol.” 

“ I look like a true brigand of the Ambigu- 
Comique ,” said Orso, looking at himself in a 
little mirror which Saveria handed to him. 

“You look well like that, Ors’ Anton’,” said 
the old servant; “and the finest fiinsuto 1 of Bo- 
cognano or of Bastelica is not a better fellow ! ” 

Orso breakfasted in his new costume ; and dur- 
ing the repast he said to his sister that his trunk 
contained a number of books, and that he in- 
tended to send for some others from France and 
Italy, and to have her work a great deal. “ For 
it is shameful, Colomba,” he went on, “ that a 
great girl like you should not yet know things 
which the children on the Continent learn as soon 
as they leave the nursery.” 

“ You are right, brother,” Colomba said ; “ I 
know how deficient I am; and I ask for nothing 

1 Pinsuto is the name applied to those who wear the pointed cap, 
barreta pinsuta. 


COLO MB A. 97 

better than to study, especially if you will give 
me lessons.” 

Several days passed without Colomba mention- 
ing the name of the Barricinis. She was always 
doing little kindnesses for her brother, and she 
often talked with him about Miss Nevil. Orso 
had her read French and Italian works; and he 
was surprised sometimes at the justness and 
good sense of her observations, sometimes at her 
utter ignorance of the most common things. 

One morning after breakfast Colomba went 
out for a moment; and instead of returning with 
a book and some paper, she appeared with her 
mezzaro on her head. Her manner was more 
serious than usual as she said, “ Brother, I beg 
you to come out with me.” 

“Where shall I accompany you?” asked Orso, 
offering his arm. 

“ I do not need your arm ; but take your gun 
and your cartridge-box. A man ought never to 
go out without weapons.” 

“Very well; I must conform to the fashion. 
Where are we going ? ” 

Colomba, without replying, tied her mezzaro 
about her head, called the watch-dog, and went 
out, followed by her brother. She walked quickly 
away from the village, and took a blind path 
which wound through the vineyards, But first 


98 


COLO MB A. 


she sent the dog ahead, to whom she made a 
sign that he seemed to understand perfectly; for 
he immediately began to run this way and that, 
rushing into the vineyards sometimes on one side 
and sometimes on the other, always about fifty 
paces from his mistress, and stopping now and 
then in the middle of the road to look at her, 
and wag his tail. He seemed to perform thor- 
oughly his duties as scout. 

“ If Muschetto barks,” said Colomba, “ cock 
your gun, brother, and don’t move.” 

After many windings, Colomba suddenly stopped 
at a place about half a mile from the village, 
where the road made a bend. There a pile of 
branches, some green, others dry, was heaped 
about three feet high. From the top projected 
the end of a wooden cross, painted black. In 
several districts of Corsica, and particularly in 
the mountains, a very old custom, which is per- 
haps connected with pagan superstitions, obliges 
passers-by to throw a stone or a twig upon the 
spot where a man has died a violent death. 
For many years, as long as the remembrance of 
his tragic end remains in the memory of man, 
this strange offering thus accumulates from day 
to day. This is called the mucchio , or heap, of 
the person. 

Colomba stopped before this pile of foliage, and 




































































































































- 













































































































CO LOME A. 


99 


breaking off a branch of wild strawberry-tree, 
added it to the pyramid. “ Orso,” she said, “ it 
was here that father died. Let us pray for his 
soul, brother.” She knelt down, and Orso imme- 
diately followed her example. At this moment the 
village bell tolled slowly, for a man had died in 
the night. Orso burst into tears. 

A few moments later when Colomba rose, her 
eyes were dry, but her face was full of excitement. 
She hastily made with her thumb the sign of the 
cross familiar to her countrymen, which usually 
accompanies their solemn oaths ; then, leading her 
brother, she took the way back to the village. 
They entered the house silently, and Orso went to 
his room. A moment afterwards Colomba fol- 
lowed him, carrying a small box which she placed 
on the table. She opened it, and drew out a shirt 
covered with large blood-stains. “This is your 
father’s shirt, Orso,” she said, throwing it upon his 
knees; “and here are the balls that struck him.” 
She laid two rusted bullets on the shirt. “Orso, 
my brother,” she cried, throwing herself into his 
arms, and clasping him firmly, “ Orso, you will 
avenge him.” She embraced him almost furiously, 
kissed the bullets and the shirt, and went out of the 
room, leaving her brother as if petrified in his chair. 

Orso remained motionless for some time, not 
daring to put these frightful relics away. Finally 




IOO COLO MB A. 

he made a great effort, and put them into the box ; 
then he ran to the other end of the room, and threw 
himself upon his bed, with his head turned towards 
the wall, and buried in the pillow, as if he wished 
to escape the sight of an apparition. His sister’s 
last words rang incessantly in his ears ; and it 
seemed as if he heard a fatal, inevitable oracle, 
which demanded of him blood, and innocent blood. 
I shall not attempt to produce the unhappy young 
man’s sensations, which were as confused as those 
that distract the mind of a madman. He remained 
a long time in the same position, without daring 
to turn his head. At last he got up, and closed the 
box; and hurrying out of the house, he wandered 
about the country without knowing where he was 
going. 

Little by little the fresh air soothed him. He be- 
came calmer, and examined with some degree of 
coolness his position, and the means of getting out 
of it. It is already known that he did not suspect 
the Barricinis of murder ; but he did accuse them 
of forging the letter of the bandit Agostini, and he 
believed that this letter had been the cause of his 
father’s death. He felt that it was impossible to 
proceed against them as forgers. Sometimes, if the 
prejudices or the instincts of his country took pos- 
session of him, and showed him how easy it would 
be to take vengeance at the bend of a path, he 


COL OMB A. 


IOI 


thrust them aside with horror when he thought 
of his comrades in the regiment, of the salons at 
Paris, and particularly of Miss Nevil. Then his 
sister’s reproaches returned to his mind; and the 
Corsican part of his character justified them, and 
made them keener. In this combat between his 
conscience and his prejudices, there remained the 
single hope of picking a quarrel with one of the 
lawyer’s sons under any pretext whatever, and fight- 
ing a duel with him. To kill with a bullet or with 
a sword reconciled his Corsican and his French 
ideas. When he had adopted this plan, and had 
thought out some of the ways of executing it, he 
felt relieved of a great weight, and gentler thoughts 

came to calm his feverish excitement. While Cicero 

r 

was mourning the death of his daughter Tullia, he 
forgot his grief by thinking of all the beautiful 
things he could say about her. By discoursing in 
the same manner on life and death, Mr. Shandy 
consoled himself for the loss of his son. Orso 
cooled his blood by planning to give Miss Nevil a 
description of his state of mind, which could not 
fail to interest that beautiful woman. 

He was again approaching the village, from 
which he had wandered far away without being 
aware of it, when he heard the voice of a little girl, 
who, believing herself alone, was singing in a foot- 
path on the border of the maquis. To a slow, 


102 


CO LOME A. 


monotonous air, consecrated to funeral wailings, 
the child was singing : — 

“ For my son, my son in a distant country — keep my 
cross, and my bloody shirt ” — 

“ What are you singing, child ? ” said Orso in 
an angry tone, suddenly making his appearance. 

“ Oh ! is it you, Ors’ Anton’ ? ” cried the startled 
child. “ It is one of Mademoiselle Colomba’s 
songs ” — 

“ I forbid you to sing it,” said Orso in a terrible 
voice. 

The child, looking from right to left, seemed to 
be trying to discover in which direction she might 
make her escape ; and she certainly would have fled 
if she had not been restrained by the care of a big 
bundle that lay on the grass by her side. 

Orso felt ashamed of his violence. 

“ What have you there, little girl ? ” he asked, as 
gently as he could. 

As Chilina hesitated to reply, he took off the 
cloth which was wrapped around the bundle, and 
saw that it contained a loaf of bread and some 
other food. 

“To whom are you carrying this bread, my 
dear?” he asked. 

“You know, sir, to my uncle.” 

“Your uncle is a bandit, is he not?” 


CO LOME A. 


103 


“ At your service, Ors’ Anton’.” 

“ If the police should meet you, they would ask 
you where you are going.” 

“ I should tell them,” replied the child without 
hesitation, “that I am carrying dinner to the men 
from Lucca, who are cutting down the maquis .” 

“ Suppose you should find some hungry hunter 
who wished to dine at your expense, and to take 
your provisions away ? ” 

“ He would not dare. I should say it was for 
my uncle.” 

“ Indeed, he is not a man to suffer any one to 
get his dinner away from him. Your uncle loves 
you very much, does he not ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, Ors’ Anton’ ! Since my papa died he 
has taken care of the family, mamma and me and 
my little sister. Before mamma was sick he rec- 
ommended her to rich people, who gave her work. 
The mayor has given me a dress every year, and 
the priest has taught me the catechism, and how 
to read, since uncle told them about me. But your 
sister is kinder to us than any one else.” 

At this moment a dog made its appearance in the 
footpath. The little girl put two fingers in her 
mouth, and gave a shrill whistle. Immediately the 
dog ran to her and caressed her, then plunged sud- 
denly into the maquis. Soon two ill-dressed but 
well-armed men rose behind a stump covered with 


104 


COLO MB A. 


young shoots, a few steps from Orso. One would 
have thought that they must have glided like snakes 
into the midst of the thicket of cistus and myrtle 
that covered the ground. 

“ O Ors’ Anton’, welcome ! ” said the elder of 
the two men. “ What, don’t you know me ? ” 

“No,” said Orso, looking straight into his face. 

“ It is funny how a beard and a pointed cap 
change a man ! Come, lieutenant, look closely. 
Have you forgotten the veterans of Waterloo? 
Don’t you remember Brando Savelli, who bit more 
than one cartridge beside you on that unlucky day.” 

“ What ! is it you ? ” said Orso. “ You deserted 
in 1816 ! ” 

“ Just as you say, lieutenant. You see, service 
is tiresome, and then I had an account to settle 
in this country. Ha, ha ! Chili, you are a good girl. 
Serve us quickly, for we are hungry. You have no 
idea, lieutenant, what an appetite we get in the 
maquis. Who sent us that, Mademoiselle Colomba 
or the mayor ? ” 

“ No, uncle ; the miller’s wife gave me this for 
you, and a blanket for mamma.” 

“ What does she want of me ? ” 

“ She says that those men from Lucca, whom she 
hired to clear her fields, are now charging thirty-five 
sous and the chestnuts, on account of the fever in 
the lower part of PieP'anera.” 


CO LOME A. 


105 


“ The lazy rascals ! I will see. Will you share 
our informal dinner, lieutenant? We used to eat 
worse meals together in the time of our poor fellow- 
countryman who has been discharged.” 

“ No, thank you. I have been discharged too.” 
“Yes, I heard so; but you were not very sorry 
for it, I wager, for the sake of settling your own 
account. Here, vicar,” said the bandit to his com- 
panion, “ sit down. Monsieur Orso, let me present 
you to the vicar ; that is, I am not sure that he is 
a vicar, but he has a great deal of knowledge.” 

“ A poor theological student, monsieur,” said the 
second bandit, “who has been prevented from fol- 
lowing his vocation. Who knows but I might have 
been Pope, Brandolaccio ? ” 

“ For what reason has the church been deprived 
of your gifts ? ” inquired Orso. 

“ A trifle ; an account to settle, as my friend 
Brandolaccio says. A sister of mine had com- 
mitted some follies while I was poring over old 
books at the University of Pisa. I had to return 
home to get her married ; but the intended hus- 
band died very suddenly, three days before my arri- 
val. Then I applied, as you would have done in 
my case, to the brother of the deceased. They 
told me he was married. What was I to do ? ” 

“ Indeed, it was embarrassing. What did you 
do?” 


io6 


COLO MB A. 


« This is one of the cases in which one must re> 
sort to the gun.” 

“ That is to say that ” — 

“ I put a ball into his head,” the bandit said 
coldly. 

Orso shuddered with horror. But curiosity, and 
also the desire of delaying the moment when he 
must return home, made him remain where he was, 
and continue the conversation with these two men, 
each of whom had at least one assassination on his 
conscience. 

While his comrade was talking, Brandolaccio 
placed before him some bread and meat ; he served 
himself, then took out an allowance for his dog 
Brusco, whom he represented to Orso as endowed 
with the marvellous instinct of recognizing a sharp- 
shooter under any disguise whatever. Lastly he 
cut off a piece of bread and a slice of raw ham, 
and gave them to his niece. 

“ How happy a bandit’s life is ! ” exclaimed the 
theological student after having eaten a few mouth- 
fuls. “ Perhaps you will try it some day, Signor 
della Rebbia, and you will see how sweet it is to 
know no master but one’s own caprice.” The ban- 
dit said all this in Italian. He went on in French, 
“ Corsica isn’t a very amusing country for a young 
gentleman, but for a bandit how different it is! 
The women are crazy about us. As for me, I have 


ini » . 


COLO MB A. 


107 


three mistresses in three different districts, and one 
is the wife of a policeman. I am at home every- 
where.” 

“ You know many languages, monsieur,” Orso 
said gravely. 

“ If I speak French, it is, you see, because max- 
ima debetur finer is reverentia. Brandolaccio and 
I intend to have the little girl turn out well, and 
behave properly.” 

“ When she is fifteen years old,” said Chilina’s 
uncle, “ I shall have her married. I already have 
a match in view.” 

“Shall you make the proposal yourself?” asked 
Orso. 

“ Certainly. Do you think that if I should say 
to some very rich man of this country, ‘ I, Brando 
Savelli, should like to have your son marry Miche- 
lina Savelli ’, he would be reluctant? ” 

“ I should not advise him to be,” said the other 
bandit. “ My companion has a heavy hand.” 

“ If I were a rascal, a scoundrel, or an impostor, 
I should have nothing to do but to open my wallet 
and hundred-sou pieces would rain into it.” 

“Is there something in your wallet, then, which 
attracts them ? ” inquired Orso. 

“ Nothing. But if I should write, as some have 
done, to a rich man, ‘ I need a hundred francs,’ he 
would not delay to send them to me. But I am an 
honorable man, lieutenant.” 


io8 


COLO MB A. 


“ Do you know, Monsieur della Rebbia,” said the 
bandit whom his comrade called the vicar, “that 
in this country of simple customs there are, how- 
ever, some wretches who take advantage of the 
esteem which we inspire by means of our passports 
[he pointed to his gun] to draw bills of exchange 
by counterfeiting our handwriting ? ” 

“ I know,” Orso answered gruffly. “ But what 
kind of bills of exchange ? ” 

“ Six months ago,” the bandit continued, “ I was 
walking beside the Orezza, when a peasant came 
towards me, and taking off his hat when a long 
way off, said, ‘ O vicar ! [they always call me 
that], excuse me, give me more time ; I have not 
been able to collect more than fifty-five francs ; 
truly, that is all I could get.’ I was perfectly as- 
tonished, and said, ‘ What are you talking about, 
rascal! fifty-five francs?’ — ‘I meant to say sixty- 
five,’ he answered ; £ but as for the hundred that 
you demand, it’s impossible.’ — ‘ What, fellow ! I 
ask a hundred francs of you ? I don’t know you ! ’ 
Then he handed over to me a letter, or rather a 
very dirty scrap of paper, in which he was re- 
quested to deposit a hundred francs in an indicated 
spot, under pain of seeing his house burned and 
his cows killed by Giocanto Castriconi ; and that is 
my name. Some one had the infamy to counterfeit 
my handwriting ! What offended me most was 


COLOMBA. 


IO9 


that the letter was written in dialect, and was full 
of mistakes in spelling. I making mistakes in 
spelling! I, who took all the prizes at the Univer- 
sity ! I began by giving the villain a blow which 
made him reel. ‘ Ah ! you take me for a thief, do 
you, scoundrel ! ’ I said, and gave him a sound 
kick. That comforted me a little ; and I asked, 
‘ When must you carry this money to the appointed 
place?’ — ‘This very day.’ — ‘Well, go and carry 
it.’ 

“ The place, at the foot of a pine-tree, was plainly 
indicated. He carried the money, buried it at the 
foot of the tree, and came to me again. I had 
placed myself in ambush near by. I remained 
there with my man six mortal hours. Monsieur 
della Rebbia, I would have stayed three days if it 
had been necessary. At the end of six hours an 
infamous usurer of Bastia appeared on the scene. 
When he stooped down to get the money I fired ; 
and I took such accurate aim that his head, in fall- 
ing, struck the crowns that he was digging up. 
‘Now, fellow,’ said I to the peasant, ‘get your 
money, and never take it into your head again to 
suspect Giocanto Castriconi of any baseness.’ The 
poor trembling devil picked up his sixty-five francs, 
without taking the trouble to wipe them. He 
thanked me, I gave him a good parting kick, and 
I daresay he is still running.” 


I IO 


COLO MB A. 


“ O vicar ! ” said Brandolaccio, “ I envy you that 
shot. How you must have laughed ! ” 

“ I had hit the usurer in the temple,” continued 
the bandit, “and that recalled to me these lines 
from Virgil : — 

Liquefacto tempora pluntbo 

Diffidit, ac multa porrectum extendit arena.” 

Liquefacto / Do you believe, Monsieur Orso, that 
a leaden ball could be melted by the swiftness of 
its motion in the air? You who have studied pro- 
jectiles ought to be able to tell me whether this 
is an error or a truth.” 

Orso preferred discussing this question of phys- 
ics to arguing with the licentiate about the moral- 
ity of his action. Brandolaccio, who was not much 
interested in this scientific dissertation, interrupted 
it to remark that the sun was setting. “ Since you 
will not dine with us, Ors’ Anton,” he said, “ I 
advise you not to keep Colomba waiting any 
longer. Besides, it is not always safe to travel in 
these paths after sunset. Why do you go out with- 
out a gun ? There are bad people around here ; be 
careful. To-day you have nothing to fear; the 
Barricinis have brought the prefect to their house. 
They met him on the road ; and he is going to stop 
one day at Pietranera, before going to Corte to lay 
a corner-stone — a foolery! He will sleep to-night 






COLO MB A. 


Ill 


with the Barricinis ; but to-morrow they will be 
free. There is Vincentello, who is a thorough 
scamp, and Orlanduccio, who isn’t much better. 
Try to find them separate, one one day, and the 
other the next; but don’t trust them, that’s all 
I have to say.” 

“ Thank you for the advice,” said Orso ; “ but 
we have nothing to quarrel about together; until 
they seek me out, I have nothing to say to them.” 

The bandit smacked his tongue against his cheek 
with an ironical air, but made no reply. Orso rose 
to go. “ By the way,” said Brandolaccio, “ I have 
not thanked you for the powder; it came to me 
very seasonably. Now I need nothing more ; that 
is to say, I need some shoes, but I shall make some 
of boar’s skin one of these days.” 

Orso slipped two five-franc pieces into the ban- 
dit’s hand, saying, “ It was Colomba who sent you 
the powder ; this is for shoes.” 

“ No nonsense, lieutenant ! ” exclaimed Brando- 
laccio, giving back the two pieces of money. “ Do 
you take me for a beggar? I accept bread and 
powder, but nothing else.” 

“ I thought that old soldiers might help one 
another. Well, good-by ! ” 

But before going, he put the money into the ban- 
dit’s pouch without being seen. 

“ Good-by, Ors’ Anton,’ ” said the theologian. 


1 12 


COLO MB A. 


“ Perhaps we shall meet in the 7naquis again some 
day, and we will continue our study of Virgil.” 

Orso had been gone from his companions a 
quarter of an hour, when he heard a man running 
behind him at his utmost speed. It was Brando- 
laccio. 

“ This is going a little too far, lieutenant,” he 
cried, out of breath ; “ it’s too bad ! Here are the 
ten francs. I would not overlook this trick from 
any one else. My best regards to Colomba. You 
have put me entirely out of breath ! Good-night ! ” 


COLO MB A. 


113 


CHAPTER XII. 

Orso found Colomba a little alarmed at his long 
absence ; but as soon as she saw him, she regained 
her habitual expression of sad serenity. During 
the evening meal they talked only of indifferent 
things ; and Orso, emboldened by his sister’s calm 
manner, told about his meeting with the bandits, 
and even ventured a few jokes about the moral and 
religious education which little Chilina was receiv- 
ing through the care of her uncle and his honorable 
colleague, Monsieur Castriconi. 

“ Brandolaccio is a good man,” said Colomba; 
“ but as for Castriconi, I have heard people say that 
he is without principle.” 

“ I think,” said Orso, “ that he is worth as much 
as Brandolaccio, and Brandolaccio as much as he. 
Both are at open war with society. A first crime 
drags them on every day to other crimes ; and yet 
perhaps they may not be as guilty as many people 
who do not live in the maquis .” 

A flash of joy shone on his sister’s face. 

“ Yes,” Orso continued ; “ these wretches have 
honor in their own way. It is a cruel prejudice, 
and not base selfishness, which has drawn them into 
the life they lead.” 


COLO MB A. 


114 

There was a moment of silence. 

“ Brother,” said Colomba, giving him a cup of 
coffee, “ have you heard that Charles-Baptiste 
Pietri died last night? Yes, he died of malaria.” 

“Who is this Pietri?” 

“ A man of the village, the husband of Madeleine, 
who received father’s portfolio when he was dying. 
His widow has been here, and begged me to sing 
something at his wake. You must go too. They 
are our neighbors, and it is a politeness that cannot 
be dispensed with in a small place like ours.” 

“ I do not like to see my sister attract public 
notice in that way.” 

“ Orso,” replied Colomba, “ each people honors 
its dead in its own way. The ballata comes to us 
from our ancestors, and we ought to respect it as 
an ancient custom. Madeleine has not the gift; and 
old Fiordispina, who is the best voceratrice of the 
country, is ill. Some one is needed for the ballata .” 

“ Do you think that Charles-Baptiste will not 
find his way into the other world unless some one 
sings bad verses over his coffin ? Go to the wake 
if you wish, Colomba ; I will go with you if you 
think I ought; but do not improvise. It is unbe- 
coming to your age, and — I beg you not to do it, 
sister.” 

“ Brother, I have promised. It is the custom 
here, you know ; and I repeat that there is no one 
but me to improvise.” 


COLO MB A. 


115 

“ Foolish custom ! ” 

“ I suffer a great deal from singing a ballata. 
It recalls to me all our misfortunes. I shall be ill 
to-morrow, but I must do it. Do let me, brother. 
Remember that at Ajaccio you told me to im- 
provise for the amusement of that young English 
lady who makes fun of our old customs. Then can 
I not improvise to-day for poor people, who will be 
grateful to me for it, and will be aided by it to 
endure their grief ? ” 

“Well, do as you like. I wager that you have 
already composed your .ballata, and do not wish to 
lose it.” 

“ Oh, no ! I could not compose it beforehand. I 
place myself before the dead man, and think of 
those who remain. Tears come to my eyes, and 
then I sing whatever comes into my mind.” 

All this was said with such simplicity that it 
was impossible to suspect Colomba of the slight- 
est poetic vanity. Orso yielded, and went with his 
sister to the house of Pietri. The dead man was 
stretched on a table, with his face uncovered, in 
the largest room of the house. The doors and 
windows were open, and several candles were burn- 
ing around the table. Near the dead man’s head 
sat his widow, and a large number of women be- 
hind her occupied one whole side of the room. 
On the other side stood the men, with their heads 


COL OMB A. 


I 1 6 

bared, and their eyes fixed on the corpse, observing 
profound silence. Each new visitor approached 
the table, and kissed the dead man ; 1 then, bowing 
to the widow and her son, took his place in the 
circle, without speaking a word. From time to 
time, however, one of the persons present broke the 
solemn silence to address a few words to the de- 
ceased. 

Pietri’s son, a tall young man, shook his father’s 
cold hand, and cried, “ Oh ! why did you not die a 
violent death? We would have avenged you ! ” 

These were the first words that Orso heard on 
entering. At sight of him the circle opened, and 
a slight murmur of curiosity announced the hope 
excited in the assembly by the presence of the 
voceratrice. Colomba kissed the widow, took one 
of her hands, and remained for some minutes 
wrapped in meditation, with her eyes lowered. 
Then she threw back her mezzaro , fixed her eyes 
upon the dead man, and bending over him, with 
her face almost as pale as his, she began, — 

“ Charles-Baptiste ! may Christ receive thy soul ! — To 
live is to suffer. — Thou hast gone to a place — where 
neither sunshine nor coldness is. — Thou needst no more 
thy pruning-knife, — no more thy heavy pickaxe. — There 
is no more toil for thee. — All thy days henceforth are 
Sundays. — Charles-Baptiste, may Christ take thy soul ! — 

1 This custom still exists at Bocognano. (1840.) 


COLO MB A. 


117 


Thy son rules thy house. — I saw the oak fall — withered 
by the southwest wind, — and I believed it dead. — I 
passed that way again, — and its root had sent forth a 
branch. — The branch has become an oak — with a vast 
shade. — Under its strong branches, Madeleine, repose, — 
and think of the oak that is no more.” 

At this point Madeleine began to sob aloud ; and 
two or three men who, if occasion had offered, 
would have drawn upon Christians with as much 
coolness as upon partridges, began to wipe the 
tears from their sunburned cheeks. 

Colomba continued in this way for some time, 
addressing herself now to the deceased, and now to 
his family, and sometimes, by a personification 
often used in the ballata, making the dead man 
himself speak, to console his friends or to give them 
advice. As she improvised, her face took on a 
sublime expression ; her cheeks became suffused with 
a transparent pink, which set off the whiteness of 
her teeth, and the fire in her dilated eyes. She 
was the pythoness on her tripod. With the excep- 
tion of a few sighs, a few stifled sobs, there was 
not the slightest noise in the crowd which pressed 
around her. Although less susceptible than the 
others to this savage poetry, Orso was very soon 
affected with the general emotion. He had with- 
drawn into a dark corner of the room, and he 
wept as if he had been Pietri’s son. 


1 1 8 


CO LOME A. 


Suddenly there was a slight stir in the audience : 
the circle opened, and several strangers entered. 
From the respect that was shown to them, and the 
haste that was made to give them room, it was 
evident that they were important people, whose visit 
was a great honor to the house. However, out of 
respect for the ballata , no one spoke to them. The 
man who entered first seemed to be about forty 
years old. His black clothes, his red rosette, and 
his expression of authority and self-confidence, indi- 
cated at once that he was the prefect. Behind him 
came a bent old man with a bilious complexion) 
who could not conceal behind his green spectacles 
a timid and restless glance. He wore a black coat, 
too large for him, which, although still like new, had 
evidently been made some years before. He re- 
mained so constantly beside the prefect, that one 
would have said he wished to hide in his shadow. 
Finally, behind him, came two tall young men with 
swarthy skin, whose cheeks were buried under thick 
whiskers, and whose eyes were proud and arrogant, 
and showed an impertinent curiosity. 

Orso had had time to forget the faces of the 
people of his village; but the sight of the old 
man in green spectacles immediately awoke remem- 
brances of the past. His presence behind the pre- 
fect was enough to make him recognized. It was 
the lawyer Barricini, the mayor of Pietranera, who 


COLOMBA. 1 19 

came with his two sons to show a ballata to the 
prefect. It would be difficult to describe what 
passed at that moment in Orso’s mind ; but the 
presence of his father’s enemy caused him a kind 
of horror, and he felt more than ever susceptible 
to the suspicions that he had been fighting against 
so long. 

As for Colomba, at the sight of the man to whom 
she had vowed a mortal hatred her mobile features 
immediately took on a sinister expression. She 
grew pale ; her voice became hoarse, the verses 
began to die away on her lips. But soon, resuming 
her ballata , she continued with new vehemence : 

“The sparrow-hawk will rouse himself ; — he will out- 
spread his wings, — he will bathe his beak in blood ! — 
To thee, O Charles-Baptiste, thy friends — address their 
last farewell. — Their tears have flowed long enough. — 
The poor orphan girl alone cannot weep for thee. — Why 
should she mourn thee ? — Thou hast fallen asleep full of 
days — in the midst of thine own family, — prepared to 
stand in the presence — of the all-powerful One. — The or- 
phan weeps for her father, — surprised by base assassins, — 
struck from behind ; — her father whose blood is red — 
under the heap of green leaves. — But she has gathered 
up his blood, — that noble and innocent blood; — she has 
spread it over Pietranera, — that it may become a mortal 
poison. — And Pietranera will remain branded — until the 
blood of the guilty — has effaced the blood of the in- 
nocent.” 

As soon as she finished these words, Colomba let 


120 


COLO MB A. 


herself fall into a chair, wrapped her mezzaro over 
her face, and sobbed. The weeping women pressed 
about the improvisatrice j several men threw sav- 
age glances at the mayor and his sons ; a few old 
men murmured against the scandal that had been 
occasioned by their presence. The son of the de- 
ceased elbowed his way through the crowd, and 
was about to request the mayor to leave the room 
as quickly as possible ; but the mayor did not wait 
for the invitation. He was making for the door, 
and his sons were already in the street. The pre- 
fect addressed a few words of condolence to the 
young Pietri, and followed them almost immedi- 
ately. Orso went to his sister, and led her by the 
arm out into the hall. 

“ Go with them,” said young Pietri to some of 
his friends. “ Take care that nothing happens to 
them!” 

Two or three young men hastily put their sti- 
lettos in the left sleeve of their coats, and escorted 
Orso and his sister to the door of their house. 


COLO MB A. 


121 


CHAPTER XIII 

Colomba, out of breath and exhausted, was 
unable to utter a word. Hei head rested on her 
brother’s shoulder, and she held one of his hands 
between her own. Although Orso was inwardly 
rather displeased at the concluding part of her 
dirge, he was too much alarmed to reproach her 
in the least. He was waiting in silence for the 
end of the nervous attack from which she was suf- 
fering, when some one knocked at the door, and 
Saveria entered, looking quite scared, announcing : 
“ The prefect ! ” At this name Colomba arose, as 
if ashamed of her weakness, and stood supporting 
herself upon a chair, which shook visibly under 
her hand. 

The prefect stammered some commonplace apol- 
ogies for the late hour of his call, and expressed 
pity for Colomba ; he talked about the danger of 
strong emotions, and blamed the custom of funeral 
lamentations, which the very talent of the vocera- 
trice made still more painful for the persons pres- 
ent ; he skilfully insinuated a slight reproach upon 
the tendency of the last improvisation. Then, with 
a change of manner, he said, — 


122 


COLO MB A. 


“ Monsieur della Rebbia, I am the bearer of 
many greetings for you from your English friends. 
Miss Nevil sends her kind regards to your sister 
and a letter to you.” 

“A letter from Miss Nevil?” exclaimed Orso. 

“ Unfortunately I haven’t it with me, but you 
shall have it in five minutes. Her father has been 
ill. We feared at one time that he had caught one 
of our terrible fevers. Happily he is out of danger, 
as you can judge for yourself, for you will see him 
soon, I imagine.” 

“ Miss Nevil must have been very anxious.” 

“ Luckily she did not know of the danger until 
it was past. Monsieur della Rebbia, Miss Nevil 
has talked to me a great deal about you and your 
sister.” Orso bowed. “ She has a very strong 
friendship for both of you. Beneath her grace and 
her appearance of frivolity she conceals excellent 
sense.” 

“ She is a charming person,” said Orso. 

“ It is almost entirely at her request that I have 
come here, monsieur. No one knows better than 
I the fatal story that I wish I were not obliged to 
recall to you. Since Monsieur Barricini is still 
mayor of Pietranera, and I am prefect of this de- 
partment, I do not need to tell you what little value 
I attach to certain suspicions of which, if I am 
correctly informed, some imprudent persons have 


COLO MB A. 


123 


told you, and which you have rejected with the 
indignation that is to be expected of one in your 
position and with your character.” 

“ Colomba,” said Orso, moving restlessly in his 
chair, “you are very tired, you ought to go to 
bed.” 

Colomba shook her head in the negative. She 
had recovered her customary calmness, and fixed 
her fiery eyes on the prefect. 

“ Monsieur Barricini,” continued the prefect, 
“ would be very much gratified to see this kind of 
hostility cease ; that is to say, this state of uncer- 
tainty which you feel in each other’s presence. For 
my part, I should be delighted to see you establish 
with him the relations which people made to esteem 
each other ought to have ” — 

“ Monsieur,” Orso interrupted in a trembling 
voice, “ I have never accused Barricini of having 
assassinated my father ; but he has committed an 
action which will always prevent me from having 
any intercourse with him. He forged a threaten- 
ing letter, in the name of a certain bandit, — at 
least, he attributed such a letter in an underhand 
way to my father. In short, monsieur, this letter 
was probably the indirect cause of his death.” 

The prefect reflected a moment. It is excusable 
that your father, carried away by the impetuosity 


124 


CO LOME A. 


of his nature, believed Monsieur Barricini a forger, 
and pleaded against him ; but such blindness on 
your part is not allowable. Just reflect, leaving 
his character out of consideration, that Barricini 
could have had no interest in forging that letter. 
You do not know him, you are prejudiced against 
him ; but you do not suppose that a man acquainted 
with the law ” — 

“But, Monsieur,” said Orso rising; “please re- 
member that to tell me that that letter is not the 
work of Barricini, is to attribute it to my father. 
His honor, monsieur, is mine.” 

“ No one is more fully convinced than I am,” 
continued the prefect, “ of Monsieur della Rebbia’s 
honor, but the author of this letter is now known.” 

“Who?” cried Colomba, advancing towards the 
prefect. 

“ A wretch guilty of several crimes, — crimes 
which you Corsicans do not pardon ; a thief, a cer- 
tain Tomaso Bianchi, who is now confined in prison 
at Bastia, has revealed that he was the author of 
the fatal letter.” 

“ I do not know the man,” said Orso. “ What 
could his motive have been ? ” 

“ He is a man of this country,” said Colomba, 
“ the brother of a former miller of ours. He is a 
wicked man and a liar, whose word cannot be 
relied upon.” 


COL OMB A. 


125 


“ You will see,” continued the prefect, “ the in- 
terest he had in the matter. “ The miller of whom 
your sister speaks, — his name, I think was Theo- 
dore, — rented from the colonel a mill on a stream 
of water, the ownership of which Monsieur Barri- 
cini was contesting with your 'father. The colonel, 
generous by habit, derived hardly any profit from 
his mill. Now, Tomaso believed that if Monsieur 
Barricini obtained the stream of water, he would 
have to pay him a considerable rent, for everyone 
knows that Monsieur Barricini loves money. In 
short, to oblige his brother, Tomaso counterfeited 
the bandit’s letter, and that is the whole story. 
You know that family ties are so powerful in 
Corsica that they sometimes drag people into 
crime. Please look at this letter written to me by 
the public prosecutor ; it will confirm what I have 
just said to you.” 

Orso ran through the letter, which stated in de- 
tail Tomaso’s confessions, and Colomba read at 
the same time over her brother’s shoulder. 

When she had finished, she cried : “ Orlanduccio 
Barricini went to Bastia a month ago, as soon as 
it was known that my brother was to return. He 
saw Tomaso, and bought this lie from him.” 

“ Mademoiselle,” said the prefect impatiently, 
“ you explain everything by odious suppositions ; 
is that the way to discover the truth ? You, mon- 


26 


COLO MB A. 


sieur, are calm ; tell me what you think now ? Do 
you believe, as your sister does, that a man who 
has anything but a light condemnation to dread, 
would wantonly burden himself with the crime of 
forgery, in order to oblige someone whom he does 
not know ? ” 

Orso re-read the prosecutor’s letter, weighing 
each word with extraordinary attention ; for since 
he had seen the lawyer Barricini, he felt himself 
less easily convinced than he would have been a 
few days before. At last he found himself forced 
to admit that the explanation seemed satisfactory. 
But Colomba cried, — 

“Tomaso Bianchi is a rogue! He will not be 
condemned, or he will escape from prison, I am 
sure.” 

The prefect shrugged his shoulders. “ I have 
made you acquainted, monsieur,” he said, “with 
the information that I have received. I must go 
and leave you to your reflections. I shall expect 
that your reason will enlighten you, and I hope 
that it will be more powerful than your sister’s 
suppositions.” 

Orso, after a few words of excuse for Colomba, 
repeated that he now believed Tomaso to be the 
only guilty person. 

The prefect rose to go. 

“If it were not so late,” he said, “ I should pro- 


COL OMB A. 


127 


pose your coming with me to get the letter from 
Miss Nevil. At the same time you could say to 
Monsieur Barricini what you have just told me, 
and the whole affair would be ended.” 

“ Orso della Rebbia shall never enter the house 
of a Barricini ! ” cried Colomba impetuously. 

“ Mademoiselle seems to be the tintinajo 1 of the 
family,” said the prefect in a bantering tone. 

“ Monsieur,” said Colomba, resolutely, “ you are 
deceived ; you do not know the lawyer. He is an 
extremely crafty and deceitful man. I beg you not 
to make Orso commit an act which would cover 
him with shame.” 

“ Colomba ! ” cried Orso, “ excitement makes you 
unreasonable.” 

“ Orso ! Orso ! by the box I gave you, listen to 
me, I beg you. There is blood between you and 
the Barricinis ; you shall not go to their house ! ” 

“ Sister ! ” 

“No, brother, you shall not go, or I will leave 
this house, and you will never see me again. Orso, 
have pity on me ! ” she cried, falling on her knees. 

“ I am sorry,” said the prefect, “ to see Mademoi- 
selle della Rebbia so unreasonable. You will con- 
vince her, I am sure.” 

1 The sheep that wears the bell and conducts the flock is called 
the tintinajo ; the same name is metaphorically given to the member 
of a family who directs all important affairs. 


28 


COLO MB A. 


He half opened the door, and stopped, seeming to 
wait for Orso to follow him. 

“I cannot leave her now,” said Orso. “To- 
morrow, if” — 

“ I shall go away early,” said the prefect. 

“ At least, brother,” begged Colomba with clasped 
hands, “ wait until to-morrow morning. Let me 
look over my father’s papers again. You cannot 
refuse me that.” 

“Well, you shall see them this evening; but 
after that you shall not torment me again with 
this extravagant hatred. A thousand pardons, 
prefect — I myself do not feel well. To-morrow 
would be better.” 

“ Night brings counsel,” said the prefect as he 
went away. “ I hope that by to-morrow all your 
irresolution will have disappeared.” 

“ Saveria,” said Colomba, “ take the lantern and 
accompany the prefect; he will give you a letter 
for my brother.” Then she added a few words 
that no one but Saveria heard. 

“ Colomba,” said Orso, when the prefect was 
gone, “ you have grieved me very much. Will 
you always refuse to believe proofs?” 

“ You have given me until to-morrow,” she 
replied. “ I have very little time, but I still 
hope.” 

Then she took a bunch of keys, and ran to a 


COLO MB A. 


129 


room up-stairs. There she hurriedly opened some 
drawers, and searched about in a secretary in which 
Colonel della Rebbia had formerly locked up his 
important papers. 




130 


CO LOME A. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Saveria was gone a long time, and Orso’s im- 
patience was at its height, when she finally reap- 
peared with a letter, followed by little Chilina, who 
was rubbing her eyes, for she had been aroused 
from her first sleep. 

“Why, child,” said Orso, “what are you going 
to do here at this hour ? ” 

“ Mademoiselle sent for me,” replied Chilina. 

“ What does she want of her ? ” thought Orso : 
but he hastened to break the seal of Miss Lydia’s 
letter; and while he was reading, Chilina went up- 
stairs to his sister. 

“ My father has been a little ill, monsieur [Miss 
Nevil wrote], and, moreover, he is always so disinclined 
to write that I have to act as his secretary. The other 
day, you know, he wet his feet at the seashore, instead 
of admiring the landscape with us, and in your charm- 
ing island that is quite enough to cause the fever. I can 
see the face that you will make at this point; you will feel 
for your stiletto, but I hope you no longer have one. 
Well, my father had a little fever, and I a great fright. 
The prefect, whom I still find pleasant, provided us with 
a very kind doctor, who in two days got us out of our 
difficulty. There has been no relapse, and my father 


CO LOME A. 


131 

wishes to begin hunting again ; but I forbid him to do ' 
that yet. 

“ How did you find your castle in the mountains? Is 
your northern tower still in the same place? Are there 
many ghosts? I ask all these questions because my father 
remembers that you promised him deer, wild boars, and 
moufions — is that the name of that strange beast? On 
our way to embark at Bastia, we intend to ask hospitality 
of you ; and I hope that the della Rebbia castle, which 
you say is so old and dilapidated, will not crumble down 
upon our heads. Although the prefect is so amiable that 
a topic of conversation is never lacking, — by the way, 

I flatter myself that I have turned his head, — we have 
talked about your lordship. The lawyers of Bastia have 
sent him some information about a rascal whom they have 
in prison, which is of a nature to destroy your last sus- 
picions ; your hostility, which sometimes disturbed me, 
ought to cease from this moment. You have no idea 
what pleasure that would give me. When you went away 
with the beautiful voceratrice , with your gun in your hand 
and a very serious expression on your face, you seemed to 
me more Corsican than ever — too Corsican. Enough ! 

I write you thus at length because it is dull here. The 
prefect is going away, alas ! We shall send you a mes- 
sage when we start for your mountains ; and I shall take 
the liberty of writing to Colomba to ask her for a bruccio , 
and a splendid one too. In the meantime give her my 
love. I use her stiletto a great deal, to cut the leaves 
of a novel which I brought with me ; but this terrible 
weapon is indignant at such use, and tears my book in 
a pitiable fashion. Good-by ; my father sends his best 
love. Listen to the prefect; he is a man of good counsel, 
and is going out of his way on your account. His desti- 


132 


COLO MB A. 


nation is Corte, where he is to lay a corner-stone. I im- 
agine this must be a very imposing ceremony, and I regret 
that I cannot be present at it. A gentleman in an em- 
broidered coat, silk stockings, and a white scarf, holding 
a trowel ! — and a speech ; and the ceremony will end with 
a thousand cries of Vive le roi ! You will be very con- 
ceited to have me fill four pages ; but it is dull here, I re- 
peat, and for this reason I will permit you to write long 
letters to me. By the way, I think it extraordinary that 
you have not yet announced to me your happy arrival at 
Pietranera Castle. Lydia. 

“ P. S. I entreat you to listen to the prefect, and to do 
as he tells you. We have decided together that you 
ought to do so, and it would make me glad.” 

Orso read this letter three or four times, mentally 
accompanying each reading with innumerable com- 
ments ; then he made a long reply, which he ordered 
Saveria to carry to a man in the village, who was go- 
ing to start that night for Ajaccio. Already he had 
almost forgotten about discussing with his sister the 
true or false injuries of the Barricinis. Miss Lydia’s 
letter made him see the bright side of everything ; 
he no longer had either suspicion or hatred. After 
he had waited some time in vain for his sister to 
come down, he went to bed with a lighter heart 
than he had had for a long time. Colomba dis- 
missed Chilina with secret instructions, and spent 
the greater part of the night in reading old dusty 
papers. A little before day some small pebbles 


CO LOME A. 


133 


were hurled against her window. At this signal she 
went down to the garden, opened a private door, 
and admitted into the house two very evil-looking 
men. Her first care was to lead them to the kitchen, 
and give them something to eat. Who these men 
were will presently be known. 


134 


COLO MB A. 


CHAPTER XV. 

At about six o’clock in the morning, one of the 
prefect’s servants knocked at the door of Orso’s 
house, and was received by Colomba. He told her 
that the prefect was about to start, and was waiting 
for her brother. Colomba replied without hesita- 
tion that her brother had just fallen downstairs 
and sprained his foot, and that he would be very 
grateful if the prefect would excuse him, and would 
take the trouble to call on him. Soon after this 
message was sent, Orso came down and asked his 
sister if the prefect had not sent for him. “He 
begs you to wait for him here,” she said with the 
greatest assurance. Half an hour passed by with- 
out the slightest apparent movement at the Barri- 
cini house. In the meantime Orso asked Colomba 
if she had made any discovery, and she replied 
that she would explain in the presence of the pre- 
fect. She affected great calmness, but her color 
and her eyes indicated feverish agitation. 

Finally the door of the Barricini house opened. 
The prefect, in travelling costume, came out first, 
followed by the mayor and his two sons. What 
was the surprise of the inhabitants of Pietranera, 


COLO MB A. 


135 


who had been on the watch since sunrise in order 
to be present at the departure of the highest 
magistrate of the department, when they saw him, 
accompanied by the three Barricinis, cross the 
square in a straight line, and enter the della Rebbia 
house. “ They are making peace ! ” cried the 
politicians of the village. 

“ Didn’t I tell you so,” added an old man. 
“ Orso Antonio has lived on the Continent too long 
to do things like a courageous man.” 

“ Notice, however,” said a Rebbianist, “that the 
Barricinis are seeking him. They are asking par- 
don.” 

“ The prefect has coaxed them,” replied the old 
man; “people nowadays have no courage, and 
young people care about as much for their father’s 
blood as if they were all bastards.” 

The prefect was not a little surprised to find 
Orso standing and walking without difficulty. In 
a few words Colomba accused herself of the lie, 
and asked his pardon. “ If you had lodged any- 
where else, prefect,” she said, “my brother would 
have gone yesterday to present his respects.” 

Orso made no end of excuses, protesting that he 
had no share in this ridiculous stratagem, at which 
he was deeply mortified. The prefect and old 
Monsieur Barricini seemed to believe in the sin- 
cerity of his regrets, which was further proved by 


136 


COLOMBA. 


his confusion and the reproaches that he addressed 
to his sister ; but the mayor’s sons did not appear 
satisfied. “ They are trifling with us,” said Orlan- 
duccio, loud enough to be heard. 

“ If my sister played me such a trick,” said 
Vincentello, “ I would very quickly take away her 
desire to do it again.” 

These words, and the tone in which they were 
spoken, displeased Orso, and made him lose a part 
of his good will. He and the young Barricinis 
exchanged glances which betrayed no kind feeling. 

Meanwhile they had all seated themselves except- 
ing Colomba, who stood near the kitchen door. 
The prefect began to talk; and after a few trite re- 
marks about the prejudices of the country, recalled 
the fact that the greater number of th$ most invet- 
erate hatreds were caused by nothing but misunder- 
standings. Then, addressing the mayor, he said 
that Orso della Rebbia had never believed that the 
Barricini family had taken either a direct or an 
indirect part in the deplorable event which had 
deprived him of his father; and that although he 
had, it is true, felt some doubt relating to one par- 
ticular of the lawsuit which had existed between 
the two families, yet this doubt was excused by his 
long absence, and by the nature of the information 
which he had received. Enlightened by the recent 
revelations, he had declared that he was satisfied, 


CO LOME A. 


1 37 


and that he wished to establish friendly and neigh- 
borly relations with Monsieur Barricini and his 
sons. 

Orso bowed stiffly ; the mayor stammered a 
few words which no one understood ; his sons 
stared at the beams of the ceiling. The prefect, 
continuing his harangue, was about to address to 
Orso the counterpart of what he had just said to 
Monsieur Barricini, when Colomba, drawing some 
papers from beneath her neckerchief, advanced 
gravely between the contracting parties. 

“ It would give, me very great pleasure,” she said, 
“ to see the war between our two families ended ; 
but in order that the reconciliation may be sincere, 
we must speak plainly, and leave nothing in doubt. 
Mayor, I suspected the declaration of Tomaso 
BianChi with good reason, coming from a man of 
such ill repute. I said that your sons had perhaps 
seen this man in the prison at Bastia ” — 

“ That is false,” interrupted Orlanduccio ; “ I did 
not see him.” 

Colomba threw at him a glance of contempt, and 
continued with the appearance of great calmness, — 

“You have explained the reason that Tomaso 
might have had for threatening Monsieur Barricini 
in the name of a formidable bandit, by his desire 
to keep for his brother the mill that my father 
leased to him at a low rent.” 


138 


COLOMBA. 


“It is evident that it must have been so,” said 
the prefect. 

“ On the part of such a wretch as this Bianchi 
appears to be, anything can be accounted for,” said 
Orso, baffled by his sister’s air of moderation. 

“ The forged letter,” continued Colomba, whose 
eyes began to sparkle with greater brilliancy, “ is 
dated the eleventh of July. Tomaso was at that 
time with his brother at the mill.” 

“Yes,” said the mayor rather nervously. 

“What was Tomaso Bianchi’s purpose, then?” 
Colomba cried triumphantly. “ His brother’s lease 
had expired ; my father gave him notice on the first 
of July. Here are my father’s record, the draft of 
the notice, and a letter from an agent at Ajaccio 
proposing a new miller.” 

While speaking she handed the papers to the 
prefect. There was a moment of general astonish- 
ment; Orso, frowning, advanced to look at the 
papers, which the prefect was reading with great 
care. 

“ They are trifling with us,” cried Orlanduccio 
again, as he arose angrily. “ Let us go, father ; we 
ought never to have come here ! ” 

One moment was enough for Monsieur Barricini 
to recover his composure. He asked to examine 
the papers, and the prefect gave them to him with- 
out saying a word. Then, pushing his green glasses 


COL OMB A. 


1 39 


up on his forehead, he read them through in an 
unconcerned manner, while Colomba watched him 
with the eyes of a tigress who sees a deer approach 
the den of her little ones. 

“ But,” said Monsieur Barricini, lowering his 
glasses, and returning the papers to the prefect, 
“ being aware of the kindness of the late colonel, 
Tomaso thought — he must have thought — -that 
the colonel would alter his decision about dismiss- 
ing him ; in fact, he did remain in possession of 
the mill ” — 

“ It was I who kept it for him,” said Colomba in 
a tone of scorn. “ My father was dead, and in my 
position I had to treat kindly the clients of my 
family.” 

“However,” said the prefect, “this Tomaso ac- 
knowledged that he wrote the letter — that is clear.” 

“ It is clear to me,” interrupted Orso, “that there 
is great wickedness concealed in this whole affair.” 

“ I have yet to contradict one assertion made by 
these gentlemen,” said Colomba. She opened the 
kitchen door, and admitted Brandolaccio, the licen- 
tiate, and the dog Brusco. The two bandits were 
apparently unarmed ; they carried cartridge-boxes 
in their belts, but had no pistols, which are the 
necessary complements. As they entered the room, 
they respectfully took off their hats. 

Their sudden appearance produced a startling 


140 


COLO MB A. 


effect. The mayor nearly fell over ; his sons threw 
themselves bravely in front of him, feeling in their 
coat pockets for their stilettos. The prefect made 
a movement towards the door ; while Orso, seizing 
Brandolaccio by the collar, cried, “ What have you 
come here for, you wretch ? ” 

“ This is foul play ! ” cried the mayor, trying to 
open the door; but Saveria had double locked it on 
the outside, according to the order of the bandits. 

“Good people,” said Brandolaccio, “do not be 
afraid of me ; I am not so devilish as I look. 
We have no evil intention. Prefect, I am your 
humble servant. Gently, lieutenant, you are stran- 
gling me. We come here as witnesses. Here, 
vicar, speak — you have a nimble tongue.” 

“ Prefect,” said the licentiate, “ I have not the 
honor of being acquainted with you. I am Gio- 
canto Castriconi, better known by the name of 
vicar. Ah ! you remember me ! Mademoiselle, 
with whom also I had not the advantage of being 
acquainted before, begged me to give her some in- 
formation about a man called Tomaso Bianchi, with 
whom I was confined for three weeks in prison at 
Bastia. This is what I have to tell you ” — 

“ Do not trouble yourself,” said the prefect. “ I 
have nothing to hear from a man like you. Mon- 
sieur della Rebbia, I trust that you had no share 
in this odious plot. But are you master in your 


COLO MB A. 


141 

own house ? Order this door to be opened. Your 
sister will perhaps have to explain the strange rela- 
tions that she keeps up with the bandits.” 

“ Prefect,” cried Colomba, “ please listen to what 
this man is going to say. You are here to render 
justice to all, and your duty is to seek out the truth. 
Speak, Giocanto Castriconi.” 

“ Do not listen to him ! ” cried the three Barri- 
cinis in chorus. 

“ If every one talks at the same time,” said the 
bandit with a smile, “ there is no chance of my 
being heard. In the prison, then, I had for com- 
panion, not for friend, this Tomaso in question. 
He received frequent visits from Monsieur Or- 
landuccio.” 

“ That is not true,” burst out the two brothers at 
the same time. 

“ Two negatives make an affirmative,” remarked 
Castriconi coldly. “ Tomaso had money ; he ate 
and drank the best. I have always loved good 
cheer (that is my slightest failing) ; and in spite of 
my reluctance to associate with that scoundrel, I 
allowed myself to dine with him several times. 
Out of gratitude, I proposed to him to escape with 
me. Tomaso refused, and told me that he was 
sure of his affair, since Lawyer Barricini had rec- 
ommended him to all the judges, and that he 
would get out as white as snow, and with money 


42 


COLOMBA. 


in his pocket. As for me, I thought that I ought 
to take an airing. Dixi .” 

“ Everything that this man says is a heap of 
lies,” repeated Orlanduccio resolutely. “ If we 
were in the open field with our guns, he would not 
speak in that way.” 

“ What nonsense ! ” exclaimed Brandolaccio. 
“ Don’t get into a quarrel with the vicar, Orlan- 
duccio.” 

“ Will you let me go out, Monsieur della 
Rebbia ? ” said the prefect, tapping impatiently 
with his foot. 

“ Saveria ! Saveria ! ” called Orso, “ open the 
door ! ” 

“ One moment,” said Brandolaccio. “ We have 
to get away first. Prefect, it is the custom, when 
persons meet at the house of common friends, to 
give a half-hour’s truce at parting.” 

The prefect glanced at him contemptuously. 

“ Compliments to all the company,” said Brando- 
laccio. Then, extending his arm horizontally, he 
said to his dog, “ Here, Brusco, leap for the pre- 
fect!” 

After the dog had leaped, the bandits hastily 
took their arms from the kitchen, and fled through 
the garden, and at a sharp whistle the door opened 
as if by magic. 

“ Monsieur Barricini,” said Orso with concen 


CO LOME A. 


143 


trated fury, “ I consider you a forger. To-day I 
shall send to the public prosecutor my accusation 
against you as a forger and an accomplice of 
Bianchi. Perhaps I shall have a still more terrible 
charge to bring against you.” 

“ And I, on my part, Monsieur della Rebbia,” 
returned the mayor, “ shall bring my charge against 
you for foul play, and for complicity with the 
bandits. In the meantime the prefect will recom- 
mend you to the police.” 

“ The prefect will do his duty,” said that officer 
in a severe tone. “He will see that order is not 
disturbed at Pietranera, and will take care that 
justice is done. I speak to all of you ! ” 

The mayor and Vincentello were already out of 
the room ; and Orlanduccio was following them 
backwards, when Orso said in a low voice, “Your 
father is an old man whom I could crush with one 
blow ; I destine it for you and your brother.” 

For reply Orlanduccio drew his stiletto, and fell 
upon Orso like a madman ; but before he could 
make use of his weapon, Colomba seized his arm 
and twisted it violently, while Orso, by striking him 
in the face with his fist, made him recoil a few 
steps, and fall heavily against the frame of the 
door. The stiletto flew out of Orlanduccio’s hand ; 
but Vincentello had his, and was coming back into 
the room, when Colomba seized a gun, and proved 


144 


COLO MB A. 


to him that the parties were not equally matched. 
At the same time the prefect threw himself between 
the combatants. 

“ I will see you again, Ors’ Anton’ ! ” cried Orlan- 
duccio; “and drawing the hall door together 
quickly, he locked it, in order to give himself time 
to retreat. 

Orso and the prefect, each at one end of the hall, 
remained for a quarter of an hour without speaking. 
Colomba, with the pride of triumph on her face, 
looked from one to the other, as she rested on the 
gun which had decided the victory. 

“ What a country ! what a country ! ” exclaimed 
the prefect at last, rising impetuously. “ Della Reb- 
bia, you have done wrong. I require your word of 
honor to refrain from all violence, and to wait for 
justice to decide this cursed affair.” 

“ Yes, Prefect, I was wrong to strike the wretch; 
but I did strike him, and I cannot refuse the satis- 
faction that he demands from me.” 

“ Oh, no ! he does not wish to fight with you ! 
But if he assassinates you — you have done all that 
is necessary to bring that about.” 

“ We will be on our guard,” said Colomba. 

“ Orlanduccio,” said Orso, “ seems to me a cour- 
ageous fellow, and I predict something better for 
him, Prefect. He was prompt in drawing his sti- 
letto, but in his place, I should perhaps have done 


COLO MB A. I45 

the same ; and I am glad that my sister has not a 
dainty wrist.” 

“ You shall not fight ! ” cried out the prefect ; “ I 
forbid it.” 

“ Permit me to tell you, that in a matter of honor 
I recognize no other authority than my conscience.” 

“ I tell you that you shall not fight ! ” 

“You can have me arrested; that is, if I allow 
myself to be taken. But if that should happen, 
you would only defer an affair which is now inev- 
itable. You are a man of honor, and you know 
that it cannot be otherwise.” 

“ If you should have my brother arrested,” added 
Colomba, “ half the village would take his part, and 
we should see a fine skirmish.” 

“ I warn you, Prefect,” said Orso, — “ and I beg 
you not to think that I say this out of bravado, 
— I warn you, that if Monsieur Barricini takes 
advantage of his authority as mayor to have me 
arrested, I shall defend myself.” 

“ From to-day,” said the prefect, “ Monsieur Bar- 
ricini is suspended from his functions. He will 
justify himself, I hope. Come, come, della Rebbia, 
I am interested in you. What I ask of you is a 
very little thing, — remain peacefully at home until 
my return from Corte. I shall be gone only three 
days. I shall return with the public prosecutor, 


146 


COLO MB A. 


and we shall then be able to have a complete ex- 
planation of this sad affair. Will you promise me 
to refrain from all hostility until then ? ” 

“ I cannot promise it if Orlanduccio demands a 
duel, as I think he will.” 

“What! will you, a French soldier, fight with 
a man whom you suspect of forgery ? ” 

“ I struck him.” 

“ But if you had struck a convict, and he had 
demanded satisfaction from you, would you have 
fought with him ? Well, I will ask still less of you. 
Do not seek Orlanduccio ; I permit you to fight if 
he asks for a meeting with you.” 

“ He will ask for one, no doubt ; but I promise 
you not to give him any more blows in order to 
induce him to fight.” 

“ What a country ! ” the prefect repeated, striding 
about. “ When shall I ever get back to France ? ” 

“ Prefect,” said Colomba in her sweetest tone, 
“it is getting late; will you not do us the honor 
of breakfasting here?” 

The prefect could not help laughing. “ I have 
remained here too long already ; it seems like 
partiality. And that confounded stone! I must 
go. Mademoiselle della Rebbia, how many mis- 
fortunes you have perhaps prepared to-day ! ” 

“At least, Prefect, you will do my sister the 


COLO MB A. 


14 7 


justice to believe that her convictions are profound; 
I am now sure that you yourself believe them well 
founded.” 

“ Good-by, monsieur,” said the prefect with a 
wave of the hand. “ I warn you that I am going 
to order the police-sergeant to follow all of your 
proceedings.” 

When the prefect was gone Colomba said, 
“ Orso, you are not on the Continent here. Orlan- 
duccio does not understand anything about your 
duels ; and besides, the scoundrel ought not to die 
the death of a brave man.” 

“ Colomba, my dear, you are a strong woman. 
I am greatly indebted to you for having saved me a 
stab. Let me kiss your hand. But, you see, you 
must let me act. There are certain things which 
you do not understand. Give me some break- 
fast, and as soon as the prefect has started, send 
little Chilina to me ; she seems to do errands well. 
I need her to carry a letter.” 

While Colomba was superintending the prepara- 
tions for breakfast, Orso went up to his room and 
wrote the following note: — 

You must be eager to have an encounter. I am no 
less so. We can meet at six o’clock to-morrow morning 
in the valley of Acquaviva. I am very skilful with the 
pistol, so I do not propose that we use that weapon. I 
am told that you shoot well with the gun; then let us 


148 


COLO MB A. 


each take a double-barrelled gun. I shall go accompanied 
by one man from the village. If your brother wishes to 
go with you, take a second witness, and inform me of it. 
In this case alone I shall take two witnesses. 

Orso Antonio della Rebbia. 

After the prefect had spent an hour with the 
deputy mayor and a few minutes with the Barri- 
cinis, he started for Corte, escorted by a single 
policeman. A few moments later Chilina carried 
Orso’s letter to Orlanduccio, and delivered it into 
his own hands. 

The reply had to be waited for, and did not come 
until evening. It was signed by Monsieur Barri- 
cini, and announced to Orso that he should lay be- 
fore the prosecutor the letter of challenge addressed 
to his son. “Relying upon my conscience,” he 
added in closing, “ I shall wait for justice to pro- 
nounce judgment upon your calumnies.” 

In the meantime five or six shepherds whom 
Colomba had summoned arrived to garrison the 
della Rebbia tower. In spite of Orso’s protesta- 
tions, they made loopholes in the blockaded win- 
dows looking into the square, and all the evening 
offers of service were received from different per- 
sons of the borough. A letter came from the theo- 
logian bandit, who promised in his own name, and 
that of Brandolaccio, to interfere if the mayor 


COLO MB A. 149 

should get the assistance of the police force. He 
finished with this postscript: — 

“May I venture to ask you what the prefect thinks 
of the excellent education which my friend is giving to 
his dog Brusco? After Chilina I do not know a more 
promising pupil.” 














COLOMBA. 


ISO 


CHAPTER XVI. 

The following day passed without hostilities. 
Both sides held themselves on the defensive. Orso 
did not go out of his house, and the door of 
the Barricinis’ remained constantly closed. Five 
policemen who had been left as garrison at Pie- 
tranera were to be seen walking in the square or in 
the outskirts of the village, accompanied by the 
rural constable, the only representative of the town 
force. The deputy mayor did not take off his 
scarf; but with the exception of the loopholes at 
the windows of the hostile houses, nothing indi- 
cated war. No .one but a Corsican would have 
noticed that in the square around the green oak 
only women were to be seen. 

At supper-time Colomba joyfully showed her 
brother the following letter, which she had just 
received from Miss Nevil: — 

My dear Colomba, — 

I was very glad to learn from your brother’s letter 
that your enmities are .over. Let me congratulate you. 
My father cannot endure Ajaccio now that your brother is 
not here to talk war and to hunt with him. We leave to- 
day; and we shall spend the night with your relative, for 


COLO MB A. 


151 

whom we have a letter. Day after to-morrow, at about 
eleven o’clock, I shall come to ask you for that bruccio 
of the mountains, which you say is so superior to that of 
the town. 

Good-by, dear Colomba, 

Your friend, 

Lydia Nevil. 

“ Then she has not received my second letter ! ” 
exclaimed Orso. 

“ You see by the date of hers that Miss Lydia 
must have been on the way when your letter ar- 
rived at Ajaccio. Did you tell her not to come ? ” 

“ I told her that we were in a state of siege. 
This is not, it seems to me, a situation in which to 
receive company.” 

“ Bah ! Those English are queer people. She 
told me the last night I spent in her room that she 
should be sorry to leave Corsica without having 
seen a fine vendetta. If you are willing, Orso, we 
can show her an assault upon the house of our 
enemies.” 

“ Do you know, Colomba,” said Orso, “ that 
nature was wrong to make a woman of you ? You 
would have made an excellent soldier.” 

“ Perhaps. At all events I am going to prepare 
my bruccio .” 

“ 1^ is useless. We must send some one to in- 
form them, and to stop them before they start.” 



52 


COLO MB A. 


“What? Would you send out a messenger in 
such weather, when a torrent might sweep him 
away with your letter ? How I pity the poor ban- 
dits in this storm ! Fortunately they have good 
cloaks. Let me tell you what you ought to do, 
Orso. If the storm ceases, go very early to-morrow 
morning and reach our kinsman’s house before our 
friends have started. That will be easy for you, 
because Miss Lydia always rises late. You can 
tell them what has happened here ; and if they 
insist upon coming, we shall be very glad to receive 
them.” 

Orso readily gave his consent to this scheme; 
and Colomba, after a few moments of silence, 
went on, — 

“ Perhaps you think, Orso, that I was joking 
when I spoke of an assault upon the Barricini 
house. Do you know that we are stronger than 
they are, two against one, at least ? Since the 
prefect suspended the mayor, all the men here are 
on our side. We can cut them to pieces. It 
would be easy to begin the affair. If you were will- 
ing, I would go to the fountain and make fun of 
their women; they would come out — or perhaps, 
they are so cowardly, they would shoot upon me 
from their loopholes ; they would miss me. Then 
the amount of it all is that they made the attack. 
So much the worse for the vanquished. In a 


COLOMBA . 


153 


quarrel who holds the victorious responsible ? Rely 
upon your sister, Orso ; the black-robed lawyers 
who are going to come will waste some paper, and 
will say many useless words. Nothing will result 
from it. The old fox would find a way to make 
them see stars at high noon. Ah, if the prefect 
had not put himself in front of Vincentello, there 
would have been one less ! ” 

All this was said with the same coolness with 
which she had spoken a few moments before about 
the preparation of the bruccio. 

Orso, stupefied, stared at his sister with admira- 
tion mingled with fear. 

“ My dear Colomba,” he said, as he rose from 
the table, “you are, I fear, the Devil personified. 
But be at rest; if I do not succeed in getting the 
Barricinis hanged, I shall find means to have my 
revenge on them in another way. Hot ball or 
cold steel ! You see that I have not forgotten 
Corsican.” 

“ The sooner the better,” said Colomba with a 
sigh. “ What horse shall you ride to-morrow, Ors’ 
Anton’ ? ” 

“ The black. Why do you ask ? ” 

“ So that barley may be given him.” 

When Orso had retired to his room, Colomba 
sent Saveria and the shepherds to bed, and re- 
mained alone in the kitchen, where she prepared 


154 


COLO MB A. 


her bruccio. From time to time she listened, and 
seemed to be waiting impatiently for her brother to 
get to bed. When she thought he was at last 
asleep, she took a knife, made sure that it was 
sharp, put her little feet into big shoes, and with- 
out making the slightest noise slipped out into the 
garden. 

The garden, enclosed with walls, bordered on a 
large piece of land surrounded with hedges, where 
they kept the horses ; for Corsican horses do not 
know the stable. Generally people let them loose 
in a field, and leave it to their intelligence to find 
food, and to shelter themselves against the cold 
and the rain. 

Colomba opened the garden gate with the same 
precaution, and entered the enclosure ; and by whis- 
tling softly she drew around her the horses, to 
whom she often brought bread and salt. 

As soon as the black horse was within her reach, 
she seized him firmly by the mane, and slit his ear 
with her knife. The horse made a wild bound and 
ran away, making a sharp cry, such as acute pain 
sometimes draws from animals of that kind. Co- 
lomba, quite satisfied, was returning to the garden, 
when Orso opened his window, and cried, “ Who 
goes there ? ” At the same time she heard him load- 
ing his gun. Fortunately for her the garden gate 
was in complete darkness, and a large fig-tree 


CO LOME A. 


partially covered it. Soon, from the intermittent 
lights that shone in her brother’s room, she con- 
cluded that he was trying to light his lamp. Then 
she hastily closed the gate ; and by gliding along 
the walls in such a way that her black dress blended 
with the dark foliage of the fruit-trees trained 
against them, she succeeded in reaching the kitchen 
a few moments before Orsa appeared. 

“What is the matter?” she asked. 

“It seemed to me,” replied Orso, “that some 
one was opening the garden gate.” 

“ Impossible ! The dog would have barked. 
However, let us go and see.” 

Orso went around the garden ; and when he had 
ascertained that the outer door was well locked, 
he felt a little ashamed of his false alarm, and pre- 
pared to return to his room. 

“ I like to see, brother,” said Colomba, “ that 
you are becoming prudent, as one in your position 
ought to be.” 

“ You are training me,” responded Orso. “ Good- 
night.” 

At the dawn of day Orso was up and ready to 
start. His dress indicated at the same time the 
pretension to elegance of a man who is going to 
present himself before a woman whom he wishes 
to please, and the prudence of a Corsican engaged 
in a vendetta . Over a tight-fitting coat he wore, 


1 56 


COLOMBA. 


slung over his shoulder, a little tin box containing 
cartridges, suspended by a green silk cord ; his sti- 
letto was placed in a side pocket; and he carried 
in his hand the beautiful Manton gun, loaded with 
bullets. While he was hurriedly drinking a cup of 
coffee which Colomba had poured out for him, a 
shepherd went out to saddle and bridle the horse. 
Orso and his sister followed close behind him, and 
entered the enclosure. The shepherd had caught 
the horse, but he had let saddle and bridle fall, 
and appeared to be horror-stricken ; while the horse, 
who remembered the wound of the preceding night 
and feared for his other ear, was rearing, kicking, 
neighing, and playing a thousand pranks. 

“ Here, hurry up ! ” Orso shouted. 

“ O Ors’ Anton’ ! O Ors’ Anton’ ! ” cried the 
shepherd ; “ by the blood of our Lady ! ” And he 
made imprecations without number, the greater part 
of which are untranslatable. 

“ What has happened ? ” demanded Colomba. 

Every one approached the horse ; and when they 
saw that he was bloody, and his ear was slit, there 
was a general exclamation of surprise and indigna- 
tion. It must be understood that to mutilate the 
horse of an enemy is, among Corsicans, at once a 
vengeance, a challenge, and a threat of murder. 
Nothing less than a gun-shot can expiate such a 
crime. Although Orso, who had lived a long time 


COLO MB A 


157 


on the Continent, felt the enormity of the outrage less 
than another would have done, yet, if a Barricinist 
had appeared before him at this moment, it is prob- 
able that he would have made him immediately 
atone for the insult which he attributed to his ene- 
mies. “ The cowardly rascals ! ” he exclaimed ; 
“ to take revenge on a poor beast, when they dare 
not meet me face to face ! ” 

“ What are we waiting for ? ” cried Colomba im- 
petuously. “ They have provoked us, and mutilated 
our horses, and are we to give no answer? Are 
you men ? ” 

“Vengeance!” responded the shepherds. “Let 
us lead the horse through the village, and assault 
their house ! ” 

“ There is a barn covered with straw joining 
their tower,” said old Polo Griffo ; “in a trice I 
could put it in flames.” Another proposed going 
to get ladders from the church tower ; a third sug- 
gested breaking in the doors of the Barricini house 
by means of a beam which was lying in the square, 
intended for some house in construction. In the 
midst of all these furious voices, Colomba was 
heard announcing to her satellites that before put- 
ting themselves to the work, each was to receive a 
large glass of anisette. 

Unfortunately, or rather fortunately, the effect 
that she had expected from her cruelty to the poor 


158 


COLOMBA. 


horse was in a great measure lost, on account of 
Orso. He did not doubt that this savage mutila- 
tion was the work of his enemies, and he suspected 
Orlanduccio particularly ; but he did not consider 
that the young man whom he had provoked and 
struck had effaced his dishonor by cutting a 
horse’s ear. On the contrary, this base and absurd 
vengeance increased his scorn for his adversaries; 
and he now agreed with the prefect that such people 
did not deserve to fight a duel with him. As soon 
as he could make himself heard, he declared to his 
amazed partisans that they were to renounce their 
warlike intentions, and that justice, which should be 
done, would thoroughly punish the injury to his 
horse. “ I am master here,” he added in a severe 
tone, “ and I will be obeyed. The first man who 
presumes to kill or to burn, I will burn in his turn. 
Here, saddle the gray horse ! ” 

“ What, Orso,” said Colomba, drawing him aside, 
“ do you allow people to insult us ? When our 
father was alive, no Barricini ever dared to muti- 
late one of our beasts.” 

“ I promise you that they will have reason to re- 
pent ; but it is for the police and the jailers to pun- 
ish the wretches who have no courage excepting 
against animals. I have said that justice will 
avenge me, — or if not, you will not need to remind 
me whose son I am!” 


COLO MB A. 159 

“ Patience ! ” said Colomba to herself, with a 
sigh. 

“ Remember, sister,” Orso continued, “ that if I 
find on my return that any demonstration has been 
made against the Barricinis, I shall never forgive 
you.” Then he added in a gentler tone : “ It is 

very possible, indeed very probable, that I shall 
return with the colonel and his daughter; see that 
their rooms are in order, and that the breakfast is 
good, — in short, that our guests may be as com- 
fortable as possible. It is a very good thing, Co- 
lomba, to have courage ; but it is also necessary for 
a woman to know how to manage a house. Come, 
kiss me ; be prudent ; there is the gray horse sad- 
dled.” 

“ Orso,” said Colomba, “ you are not going 
alone ? ” 

“ I do not need any one,” Orso replied ; “ and I 
promise you that I will not let my own ear be cut.” 

“ Oh ! I shall never allow you to go alone in 
a time of war. Here, Polo Griffo, Gian’ Franck, 
Memmo ! take your guns ; you are to accompany 
my brother.” 

After a rather lively discussion, Orso had to sub- 
mit to be followed by an escort. He took from 
among his excited shepherds those who had most 
loudly advised beginning the war ; then after he 
had renewed his injunctions to his sister and to the 


i6o 


CO LOME A. 




remaining shepherds, he started, taking this time a 
roundabout way in order to avoid the Barricini 
house. 

They were far from Pietranera, and the horses 
were walking rapidly, when old Polo Griffo per- 
ceived, at a passage of a little stream which lost 
itself in a marsh, several hogs lying comfortably in 
the mud, enjoying both the sun and the coolness of 
the water. Immediately aiming at the largest, he 
shot it in the head, and killed it on the spot. Its 
companions got up and rushed away with surpris- 
ing swiftness ; and although the other shepherd 
fired in his turn, they gained a thicket into which 
they disappeared safe and sound. 

“Fools!” cried Orso, “you mistake hogs for 
wild boars ! ” 

“No indeed, Ors’ Anton’,” replied Polo Griffo; 
“ but this drove belongs to the lawyer, and this is 
to teach him to mutilate our horses.” 

“ What, you rascals ! ” cried Orso, transported 
with rage, “ are you imitating the infamies of our 
enemies ! Leave me, wretches ! I do not need you. 
You are good for nothing but to fight with hogs. 
I swear that if you follow me I will blow your 
brains out ! ” 

The two shepherds looked at each other, speech- 
less. Orso spurred his horse, and disappeared at 
a gallop. 


COLOMBA. 


161 


“ Well ! ” said Polo Griff o, “ I call that good ! 
Love people, in order to have them treat you like 
that ! The colonel, his father, was once angry with 
you because you aimed at the lawyer, — Great 
fool, not to shoot! And the son — you see what 
I have done for him. He talks of breaking my 
head as he would a gourd which will not hold 
wine. That is what they learn on the Continent, 
Memmo ! ” 

“ Yes, and if it is known that you have killed a 
hog, a law-suit will be made against you ; and Ors’ 
Anton’ will neither speak to the judges in your 
favor, nor pay the lawyer. Luckily no one saw 
you, and Saint Nega will get you out of the 
scrape.” 

After a short deliberation, the two shepherds con- 
cluded that the most prudent thing to do was to 
throw the hog into a slough, a plan which they 
executed, after each had taken several slices from 
the innocent victim of the hatred of the della 
Rebbias and Barricinis. 


COLOMBA. 


162 


CHAPTER XVII. 

When Orso was rid of his undisciplined escort, 
he continued his way, more occupied with the 
pleasant anticipation of seeing Miss Nevil again 
than with fear of meeting his enemies. “ The law- 
suit which I am going to have with these Barricini 
wretches,” he said to himself, “ will oblige me to go 
to Bastia. Why should I not accompany Miss 
Nevil ? Why should we not go together from 
Bastia to the mineral springs of Orezza ? ” All at 
once reminiscences of childhood brought that pic- 
turesque place plainly to his mind. He seemed to 
be transported to a green lawn at the foot of chest- 
nut-trees a century old. On the shining grass, 
dotted with blue flowers like eyes which smiled at 
him, he saw Miss Lydia seated by his side. She 
had taken off her hat ; and her fair hair, finer and 
softer than silk, shone like gold in the sunlight which 
penetrated through the foliage. Her pure blue eyes 
seemed to him bluer than the sky. With her cheek 
resting on one hand, she listened pensively to the 
words of love that he tremblingly addressed to her. 
She had on the muslin dress that she had worn on 
the last day he saw her at Ajaccio, From beneath 


CO LOME A. 


163 

the folds of this dress escaped a little foot in a 
black satin slipper. Orso said to himself that he 
would like to kiss that foot: but one of Miss 
Lydia’s hands was not gloved, and it held a daisy. 
Orso took the daisy from her, and Miss Lydia’s 
hand clasped his ; he kissed the daisy and then the 
hand, and she was not offended. All these thoughts 
hindered him from paying attention to the road that 
he was following, and yet his horse had been con- 
tinually trotting. He was going to kiss in imagina- 
tion Miss Lydia’s white hand for the second time, 
when he almost kissed in reality the head of his 
horse, which stopped abruptly. Little Chilina had 
barred his way, and seized his bridle. 

“ Where are you going in this fashion, Ors’ 
Anton’ ? ” she asked. “ Don’t you know that your 
enemy is near ? ” 

“ My enemy ! ” cried Orso, furious at being in- 
terrupted at such an interesting moment. “ Where 
is he?” 

“Orlanduccio is near here. He is waiting for 
you. Return, do return ! ” 

“Ah, he is waiting for me, is he? Have you 
seen him ? ” 

“Yes, Ors’ Anton’, I was lying in the fern when 
he passed. He was looking all around with his 
field-glass.” 

“ In what direction did he go ? ” 


164 


COLOMBA. 


“ He descended there, in the same direction in 
which you are going.” 

“Thank you.” 

“ Ors’ Anton’, wouldn’t it be better to wait for 
my uncle? He will soon be here, and with him 
you would be safe.” 

“ Don’t be afraid, Chili ; I do not need your uncle.” 

“If you were willing, I would go in front of you.” 

“ No, thank you, thank you.” 

And Orso, urging his horse, rode rapidly away 
in the direction that the little girl had indicated to 
him. 

His first feeling had been a blind transport of 
rage, and he had said to himself that fortune offered 
him an excellent opportunity to correct the coward 
who mutilated a horse in order to avenge himself 
for a blow. Then, while riding, the partial promise 
that he had made to the prefect, and above all the 
fear of losing the visit from Miss Nevil, changed 
his mood, and made him almost wish not to meet 
Orlanduccio. But soon the remembrance of his 
father, the insult done to his horse, and the threats 
of the Barricinis, kindled his wrath again, and im- 
pelled him to seek out his enemy, in order to provoke 
him and force him to fight. Thus agitated by con- 
tradictory resolutions he continued to go forward, 
but now with precaution, examining the bushes and 
hedges, and now and then even stopping to listen to 


COLO MB A. 


165 

the indistinct sounds that are heard in the country. 
Ten minutes after he had left little Chilina (it was 
then about nine o’clock in the morning), he found 
himself at the top of a very steep slope. The road, 
or rather the ill-defined foot-path which he was fol- 
lowing, crossed a recently burned maquis. In this 
place the ground was covered with whitish ashes; 
and here and there some shrubs and large trees 
blackened by the fire, and entirely despoiled of 
their leaves, were standing upright, although they 
had ceased to live. When a person sees a burned 
maquis, he believes himself transported into the 
midst of the scenery of the north in mid-winter ; and 
the contrast between the barrenness of the places 
over which the flames have swept, and the luxuriant 
vegetation of the surrounding country, makes them 
appear still more sad and desolate. But in this 
landscape Orso saw at this time only one important 
thing with regard to his position ; since the ground 
was bare, it could not conceal an ambush, and one 
who fears at every moment to see issuing from a 
thicket the barrel of a gun aimed at his own breast, 
regards as a kind of oasis a stretch of level ground 
where nothing obstructs the view. Beyond the 
burned maquis were several cultivated fields en- 
closed, according to the custom of the country, 
with unmortared stone walls, breast high. The 
path passed between these enclosures, in which 


COLO MB A. 


1 66 

enormous chestnut-trees, irregularly grouped, pre^ 
sented from a distance the appearance of a thick 
wood. 

On account of the steepness of the slope, Orso 
was obliged to dismount; and leaving the bridle 
loose on the horse’s neck, he descended rapidly by 
sliding on the ashes. When he was not more than 
twenty-five paces from one of these enclosures, he 
perceived directly in front of him, first the barrel 
of a gun, then a head projecting above the top of 
the wall. The gun was lowered, and he recognized 
Orlanduccio ready to fire. Orso was prompt in 
preparing to defend himself ; and both of them, 
while aiming, looked at each other for a few sec- 
onds with that keen emotion which the bravest feel 
at the moment of giving or of receiving death. 

“ Miserable coward ! ” Orso cried out. He had 
hardly finished speaking when he saw the flash of 
Orlanduccio’s gun ; and at almost the same instant 
a second shot came from his left, on the other side 
of the path, discharged by a man whom he had not 
seen, and who had aimed from behind another wall. 
Both balls hit him ; the first, that of Orlanduccio, 
passed through his left arm, which had been ex- 
tended forward in taking aim ; the other struck 
him in the breast and tore his coat, but fortunately 
coming in contact with the blade of his stiletto, flat- 
tened out against it, and made only a slight bruise. 


COLO MB A. 


1 6 / 


Orso’s left arm sank motionless at his side, and 
the barrel of his gun dropped for an instant; but 
he immediately raised it again, and aiming with 
his right hand alone, fired at Orlanduccio, whose 
head, which had been visible only down to the 
eyes, disappeared behind the wall. Orso, turning 
to the left, discharged his second shot at a man so 
enveloped in smoke that he could scarcely be seen. 
This figure in turn disappeared. The four shots 
had succeeded one another with incredible swift- 
ness, and trained soldiers never left a shorter in- 
terval between their firings. After Orso’s last shot 
everything became silent. The smoke from his gun 
rose slowly towards the sky ; there was no move- 
ment behind the wall, not the slightest noise. If it 
had not been for the pain which he felt in his arm, 
he could have believed that the men at whom he 
had just shot were phantoms of his imagination. 

Expecting a second shot, Orso moved a few steps 
in order to place himself behind one of the burnt 
trees standing in the maquis . Behind this shelter 
he placed his gun between his knees, and hastily 
reloaded it. His left arm pained him cruelly, and 
it seemed as if he were sustaining an enormous 
weight. What had become of his enemies? He 
could not understand. If they had fled, or if they 
had been wounded, he would certainly have heard 
some noise, some movement in the foliage. Were 


1 68 


COLO MB A. 


they dead, then, or rather, were they not waiting 
under the protection of the wall for an opportunity 
to fire upon him again? In this state of uncer- 
tainty, feeling his strength fail, he placed his right 
knee on the ground, rested his wounded arm on the 
other, and made use of a branch projecting from 
the trunk of the burnt tree to support his gun. 
With his finger on the trigger, his eyes fixed on the 
wall, and his ears attentive to the slightest sound, 
he remained without stirring for several minutes, 
which seemed to him a century. Finally, far be- 
hind him, a sharp cry was heard ; and soon a dog 
descended the slope like a flash of lightning, and 
stopped beside him wagging his tail. It was Brusco, 
the disciple and companion of the bandits, announ- 
cing without doubt the arrival of his master ; and 
never was honest man waited for more impatiently. 

The dog, with his nose in the air, turned in the 
direction of the nearest enclosure, sniffing restlessly. 
Suddenly he uttered a low growl, cleared the wall 
with one bound, and almost immediately jumped 
back upon the top of it, where he looked fixedly at 
Orso, expressing surprise with his eyes as clearly 
as a dog can do it ; then he started off again with 
his nose in the wind, this time in the direction of 
the other enclosure, the wall of which he leaped. 
At the end of a second he reappeared on the top, 
showing the same feeling of astonishment and rest- 


COL OMB A. 


169 

lessness ; then he plunged into the maquis with his 
tail between his legs, and walking sidewise he with- 
drew slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on Orso until he 
was some distance away. Then he began to run 
again, and remounted the hill almost as quickly as 
he had descended it, until he met a man who was 
advancing rapidly in spite of the steepness of the 
slope. 

“ Here, Brando ! ” shouted Orso, when he be- 
lieved him within hearing distance. 

“Well, Ors’ Anton’! are you wounded?” asked 
Brandolaccio, as he ran up quite out of breath. 
“In the body or the limbs?” 

“In the arm.” 

“ The arm ! that’s nothing. What about the 
other man ? ” 

“ I think I hit him.” 

Brandolaccio, following his dog, hastened to the 
nearest enclosure, and leaned over the wall in order 
to look on the other side. As he hung there he 
took off his cap and said, — 

“ Good-morning to Signor Orlanduccio ! ” Then 
he turned towards Orso, and saluted him in turn in 
a perfectly serious manner. . “ That,” he said, “ is 
what I call a man neatly served up.” 

“Is he still alive?” asked Orso, breathing with 
difficulty. 

“ Oh, no ! nothing of the kind ; he had too much 


COLO MB A. 


170 

pain from that ball you put into his eye. By the 
blood of the Virgin, what a hole ! A good gun, 
upon my word ! What size ! How it does crush 
one’s brains ! I say, Ors’ Anton’, when I first 
heard pif 7 pif! I said to myself, ‘Confound it! 
they are murdering my lieutenant !’ Then I heard 
boom , boo?n / ‘ Ah ! * said I, ‘ that is the English 

gun talking; he is returning the shot.’ — Well, 
Brusco, what do you want of me?” 

The dog led him to the other enclosure. “ Bless 
me ! ” cried Brandolaccio in surprise. “ A double 
hit — nothing more nor less ! The deuce ! it is evi- 
dent that powder is dear, for you are economical 
with it.” 

“What is it, in God’s name?” asked Orso. 

“ Come, come ! none of your jokes, lieutenant ! 
You bring game to the ground, and want some one 
to pick it up for you. There’s one man who will 
have a funny dessert to-day, and that’s Lawyer 
Barricini ! Here is butcher’s meat, plenty of it! 
Now who the deuce will be his heir?” 

“ What ! Vincentello dead too ? ” 

“ Dead as a door-nail. Good health to the rest 
of us ! The good thing about you is that you don’t 
make them suffer. Just come and see Vincentello ; 
he is still on his knees, with his head leaning against 
the wall. He looks as if he were asleep. This is 
what might be called a leaden sleep. Poor 
wretch ! ” 


COLO MB A. 171 

Orso turned his head away in horror. “ Are you 
sure that he is dead ? ” 

“You are like Samoiero Corso, who never gave 
more than one blow. Look, here, — in the breast, 
on the left, — it is exactly the way Vincileone was 
hit at Waterloo. I wager that the ball is not far 
from the heart. A double shot ! Ah, I will have 
nothing more to do with shooting ! Two in two 
shots! with bullets! The two brothers! If he 
had had a third shot he would have killed the 
papa ! He will do better another time. What a 
shot, Ors’ Anton’ ! And to think that it never 
happened to a brave fellow like me to make a 
double shot at the police!” 

While talking, the bandit examined Orso’s arm, 
and slit open his sleeve with his stiletto. 

“ That is nothing,” he said. “ This coat will 
give Colomba some work. Ah ! what do I see ? 
this tear in the front of it? Did anything enter 
there? No, you would not be so gay. Here, try 
to move your fingers — do you feel my teeth when 
I bite your little finger? Not at all? That is all 
right then; it won’t amount to anything. Let me 
take your handkerchief and cravat ; your frock-coat 
is entirely spoiled. Why are you arrayed so finely ? 
Are you on the way to your wedding? There, 
drink a drop of wine. Why don’t you carry a 
gourd? Does a Corsican ever go out without 


172 


COLO MB A. 


a gourd ? ” Then, in the midst of the dressing, he 
interrupted himself to exclaim : “ A double shot ! 

Both of them stark dead ! How the vicar will 
laugh — a double shot ! Ah, here comes that little 
snail of a Chilina.” 

Orso did not answer. He was as pale as death, 
and was trembling from head to foot. 

“Chili!” shouted Brandolaccio, “go and look 
behind that wall. How’s that?” 

The child making use of her feet and hands 
clambered up on the wall, and as soon as she per- 
ceived the corpse of Orlanduccio, made the sign of 
the cross. 

“That isn’t anything,” continued the bandit; 
“go and look farther, over there.” 

The child again made the sign of the cross. 

“ Did you do it, uncle ? ” she asked timidly. 

“ I ! haven’t I become an old good-for-nothing ? 
Chili, it is the work of this gentleman. Pay him 
your compliments.” 

“Colomba will be very glad,” said Chilina; 
“ and she will be very sorry to know that you are 
wounded, Ors’ Anton’.” 

“Here, Ors’ Anton’,” said the bandit, when he 
had finished the dressing. “ Chilina has caught 
your horse. Mount, and come with me to the ma- 
quis of Stazzona. He would be a clever man who 
could find you there. We will give you our best 


/ 


COLO MB A. 173 

treatment. When we get to the cross of Saint 
Christine, you must dismount. You will give your 
horse to Chilina, who will go to inform Colomba 
about you, and on the way you will give her your 
messages. You can tell everything to the little 
girl, Ors’ Anton’ ; she would rather be hacked to 
pieces than betray her friends.” Then in a gentle 
tone he said : “ Here, you little jade, be excommu- 
nicated, rogue ! ” Since Brandolaccio, like many 
bandits, was superstitious, he was afraid of fascinat- 
ing children by addressing to them benedictions of 
praises; for every one knows that the mysterious 
powers exercised by looks and speech have the 
bad habit of bringing about just the opposite of 
what we wish. 

“ Where do you want me to go, Brando ? ” asked 
Orso in a faint voice. 

“ Why, that is for you to choose, — to prison 
or to the ??iaquis. But a della Rebbia does not 
know the way to prison. Go to the maquis, Ors’ 
Anton’ ! ” 

“ Farewell to all my hopes, then ! ” moaned the 
wounded man. 

“ Your hopes ! The deuce ! did you hope to 
do better with a double-barrelled gun? Come, 
now ! how did they manage to hit you ? These 
fellows must have had as many lives as a cat 
to do it.” 


i74 


COLO MB A. 


"t 


“ They shot first,” replied Orso. 

« That’s so — I forgot. ... Pif ! pif ! boom ! 
boom ! A double shot with one hand ! 1 When 
anyone beats that, I shall go hang. Oh ! there you 
are mounted ; before going, just take a look at your 
work. It is not polite to leave the company with- 
out saying good-by.” 

Orso spurred his horse ; he would not for any- 
thing in the world have looked at the unfortunate 
men whom he had just killed. 

“ Look here, Ors’ Anton’,” said the bandit, seiz- 
ing Orso’s reins, “will you let me speak frankly? 
Well, with no offence to you, I am grieved about 
these two young men. I beg you to excuse me, — 
they were so handsome, so strong, so young. I 
have hunted with Orlanduccio many a time. Only 
four days ago he gave me a package of cigars. 
And Vincentello was always so good-natured ! It 
is true that you have done what you ought to have 
done ; and besides, the shot was too fine to be re- 
gretted. But as for me, I had nothing to do with 
your revenge. I know that you are right; when 
one has an enemy, one must get rid of him. But 
the Barricinis were one of the old families — now 

1 If any incredulous sportsman denies this double shot of Orso 
della Rebbia, I advise him to go to Sartene, where it is related how 
one of the most distinguished and amiable inhabitants of the town 
saved himself, with his left arm broken, in an equally perilous situ- 
ation. 


COLO MB A. 175 

there is one less of them, and by a double shot! 
It is really curious.” 

Thus making the funeral oration of the Barri- 
cinis, Brandolaccio hastily conducted Orso, Chilina, 
and the dog Brusco towards the maquis of Staz- 


zona. 


1 76 


COLO MB A. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

In the meantime, soon after Orso’s departure, 
Colomba had learned through her spies that the 
Barricinis kept the field, and from that moment 
she became extremely anxious. She ran through 
the house in all directions, going from the kitchen 
to the rooms prepared for her guests, doing nothing, 
yet always busy, and stopping every few moments 
to see if she could not detect some unusual move- 
ment in the village. At about eleven o’clock a 
numerous cavalcade entered Pietranera. It was the 
colonel, his daughter, their domestics, and their 
guide. On receiving them, Colomba’s first words 
were, “ Have you seen my brother ? ” Then she 
asked the guide what road they had taken, and at 
what hour they had started ; and from his replies 
she could not understand why they had not met 
each other. 

“ Perhaps your brother took the upper road,” 
said the guide; “we came by the lower one.” 

But Colomba shook her head and renewed her 
questions. In spite of her natural firmness, which 
was increased by her pride in concealing all weak- 
ness from strangers, it was impossible for her to 


COL OMB A. 


1 77 


hide her uneasiness ; and her feeling was shared by 
the colonel and Miss Lydia, when she had ac- 
quainted them with the attempt at reconciliation 
which had had such an unfortunate ending. Miss 
Nevil became agitated, and wished that messengers 
might be sent in every direction ; and her father 
offered to mount his horse again, and go with the 
guide in search of Orso. The fears of her guests 
recalled to Colomba her duties as mistress of the 
house. She forced herself to smile, urged the 
colonel to sit down at the table, and found for her 
brother’s delay twenty plausible reasons which she 
herself immediately disproved. Since the colonel 
thought that it was his duty as a man to try to 
reassure the women, he set forth his explanation. 

“I wager,” he said, “that della Rebbia has found 
game ; he could not resist the temptation ; and we 
shall see him return with his bag full. Why, to be 
sure,” he added, “ we heard four gun-shots on our 
way. Two were louder than the others ; and I said 
to my daughter, ‘ I dare say that is della Rebbia 
out hunting. Nothing but my gun could make 
such a noise.’ ” 

Colomba turned pale ; and Lydia, who was 
watching her closely, easily guessed what suspi- 
cions the colonel’s conjecture had suggested to her. 
After a silence of some minutes, Colomba asked 
eagerly whether the two loud reports had preceded 


i ;8 


COLO MB A. 


or followed the others. But neither the colonel, 
nor his daughter, nor the guide, had paid any at- 
tention to this important point. Towards one 
o’clock, before any of the messengers whom Co- 
lomba had sent out had returned, she mustered up 
all her courage, and forced her guests to sit down 
to dinner; but no one, with the exception of the 
colonel, could eat. At the slightest noise on the 
square Colomba ran to the window, then sadly 
returned to her seat, and still more sadly exerted 
herself to keep up with her friends an insignificant 
conversation, to which no one paid the slightest 
heed, and which was interrupted by long intervals 
of silence. 

Suddenly the galloping of a horse was heard. 
“ Ah, this time it is my brother ! ” said Colomba, 
as she rose from the table. But at the sight of 
Chilina riding astride Orso’s horse, she cried in a 
heart-rending voice, “ My brother is dead ! ” 

The colonel let his glass fall. Miss Nevil 
screamed, and all of them ran to the door. Be- 
fore Chilina could dismount she was lifted off by 
Colomba, who nearly smothered her in her em- 
brace. The child understood her terrified look; 
and her first word was that of the chorus in 
Othello, “ He is alive ! ” Then Colomba let go, 
and Chilina fell to the ground as nimbly as a kit- 
ten. 


COLO MB A. 


179 


“ The others ? ” asked Colomba hoarsely. 

Chilina made the sign of the cross with her index 
and middle fingers. A bright flush succeeded the 
deathly pallor on Colomba’s face. She threw a 
fiery glance at the Barricini house, then smiled at 
her guests, and said : “ Let us go back and drink 
our coffee.” 

The messenger of the bandits had a great deal 
to tell. Her dialect, translated into indifferent 
Italian by Colomba, then into English by Miss 
Nevil, drew more than one imprecation from the 
colonel, more than one sigh from Miss Lydia ; but 
Colomba listened impassively, excepting that she 
twisted her damask napkin all to bits. She inter- 
rupted the child five or six times to make' her re- 
peat that Brandolaccio said that the wound was not 
dangerous, and that he had dressed many others. 
In closing, Chilina said that Orso had asked for 
paper to write on, and that he desired his sister to 
entreat a lady, who would perhaps be at his house, 
not to go away before she had received a letter 
from him. “ That,” added the child, “ was what 
troubled him most ; and I had started on my way 
when he called me back to repeat the message 
for the third time.” At this injunction from her 
brother Colomba smiled slightly, and pressed the 
hand of the English lady, who burst into tears, and 
did not deem it expedient to translate this part of 
the narration to her father. 


i8o 


COLOMBA. 


“Yes, you will remain with me, my dear friend,” 
exclaimed Colomba, throwing her arms about Miss 
Nevil’s neck ; “ and you will help us.” 

Then she got a quantity of old linen from a cup- 
board, and began to cut it up for bands and lint. 
To see her sparkling eyes, her bright color, and her 
alternations from preoccupation to composure, it 
would have been difficult to tell whether she was 
more affected by her brother’s wound than de- 
lighted at the death of her enemies. Now she 
poured out the colonel’s coffee, while boasting of 
her talent in preparing it ; now she distributed work 
to Miss Nevil and Chilina, and told them how to 
sew the bands together, and roll them up ; she 
asked for the twentieth time whether Orso’s wound 
made him suffer very much. She continually broke 
off in the midst of her work to say to the colonel : 
“ Two men so skilful, so terrible! and he alone with 
only one arm, killed them both. What courage, 
colonel! Is he not a hero? Ah, Miss Nevil, how 
happy one must be to live in a tranquil country like 
yours ! I am sure you do not know my brother 
yet ! — I said, ‘ The hawk will spread his wings ! ’ — 
you are deceived by his gentle mien. When he is 
near you, Miss Nevil — Ah! if he could see you 
work for him ! — poor Orso ! ” 

Miss Lydia was not accomplishing very much, 
and was unable to think of a word of reply. Her 


CO LOME A. 


181 


father asked why they did not hasten to carry a 
complaint before a magistrate. He talked of the 
coroner’s inquest, and of a great many other things 
unheard of in Corsica. Finally he wanted to know 
if the country house of this good Monsieur Brando- 
laccio, who had given his aid to the wounded man, 
was very far from Pietranera, and if he could not go 
there himself to see his friend. 

Colomba replied with her accustomed calmness 
that Orso was in the maquis , with a bandit to take 
care of him ; and that he would run a great risk if 
he should show himself before the opinions of the 
prefect and the judges were known. She said she 
should have a skilful surgeon visit him secretly. 
“ And above all, remember, colonel,” she went on, 
“ that you heard the four shots, and that you told 
me that Orso’s were the last.” The colonel did not 
understand the affair at all, and his daughter did 
nothing but sigh, and wipe her eyes. 

The day was well advanced when a sad pro- 
cession entered the village. The lawyer’s children 
were being brought back to him, each one lying 
across a mule led by a peasant. A crowd of clients 
and idlers followed the lugubrious procession. 
With them were the police, who always arrive too 
late, and the deputy mayor, who was lifting his 
arms upward and repeating: “What will the pre- 
fect say ? ” Some women, among whom was a 


COLO MB A. 


1 82 

nurse of Orlanduccio, tore their hair, and uttered 
wild shrieks. But their noisy grief produced less 
impression than the mute despair of one person 
who attracted every one’s attention. It was the un- 
happy father, going from one corpse to the other, 
lifting their dirt-stained heads, kissing their purple 
lips, and holding up their stiffened limbs, as if to 
protect them from the jolts of the road. Some- 
times he was seen to open his mouth to speak ; but 
there came forth not a cry, not a word. With his 
eyes always fixed on the dead bodies, he stumbled 
against stones and trees, and all the obstacles that 
came in his way. 

The lamentations of the women, and the threats 
of the men, redoubled as the people came in sight 
of Orso’s house. After the shout of triumph which 
some Rebbianist shepherds had had the audacity to 
give, the indignation of their adversaries could not 
be restrained. “ Revenge ! revenge ! ” cried sev- 
eral of them. They threw stones ; and two gun- 
shots, aimed towards the windows of the room in 
which Colomba and her guests were sitting, pierced 
the shutters and made splinters of wood fly even 
upon the table at which the two women were sit- 
ting. Miss Lydia screamed with fright, the colonel 
seized a gun, and Colomba, before he could stop 
her, sprang towards the outside door and opened it 
impetuously. Standing there on the raised thresh- 
















COLOMBA. 183 

old, with both hands extended to curse her enemies, 
she cried out : — 

“ Cowards ! drawing upon women and strangers ! 
Are you Corsicans? Are you men? Wretches, 
who only dare to kill from behind, advance! I 
defy you ! I am alone ; my brother is far away. 
Kill me, kill my guests ; that is worthy of you — 
You dare not, cowards that you are! You know 
that we would be avenged. Go ! go weep like 
women, and thank us for not having demanded 
more blood of you ! ” 

There was something imposing and terrible in 
Colomba’s attitude and voice ; at sight of her the 
crowd drew back frightened, as if an apparition 
of one of those mischievous fairies, of whom people 
tell frightful stories on winter evenings, had ap- 
peared to them. The deputy, the police, and a 
certain number of women, profited by this move- 
ment to throw themselves between the two parties ; 
for the Rebbianist shepherds were already prepar- 
ing their weapons, and it was feared that a general 
fight might take place on the square at any mo- 
ment. But the two factions were deprived of their 
chiefs ; and Corsicans, who are disciplined in their 
fury, rarely come to blows in the absence of the 
originators of their intestine wars. Moreover, Co- 
lomba, made prudent by success, restrained her 
little garrison. “ Let the poor people weep,” she 


1 84 


COLOMBA. 


said; “let the old man carry home his children. 
What would be the use of killing the old fox when 
he no longer has teeth to bite with ? Giudice Bar- 
ricini, remember the second of August! Remem- 
ber the bloody portfolio in which you wrote with 
your forging hand ! My father inscribed your debt 
there ; your sons have paid it. I give you receipt 
in full, old Barricini ! ” 

Colomba stood with her arms folded, and a dis- 
dainful smile on her lips, and watched the bodies 
carried into her enemies’ house, and the slow dis- 
persion of the crowd. Then she closed the door, re- 
turned to the dining-room, and said to the colonel : 

“I beg your pardon for my compatriots, mon- 
sieur. I never would have believed that Corsicans 
would fire upon a house where there are strangers, 
and I am ashamed for my country.” 

In the evening, when Miss Lydia had retired to 
her room, the colonel followed her, and asked if it 
would not be well to leave, on the very next day, 
a village where people were likely at any instant 
to receive a bullet in their heads, and to get as 
quickly as possible out of a country where there 
was nothing but murder and treason. 

Miss Nevil did not reply at once, and it was 
evident that her father’s proposition had caused 
her more than a slight embarrassment. At last 
she said : 


CO LOME A. 


i8 5 


“ How can we leave this unfortunate young girl 
at a moment when she needs consolation so much ? 
Don’t you think, father, that it would be cruel of 
us?” 

“ It is for your sake that I speak, daughter,” 
said the colonel ; “ and if you were safe in the 
hotel at Ajaccio, I assure you I should be sorry 
to leave this accursed island without first shaking 
hands with brave della Rebbia.” 

“ Well, father, let us wait a while ; and before 
we go, let us be sure that there is no service we 
can render them.” 

“ Dear heart ! ” said the colonel, as he kissed 
his daughter’s forehead. “ I like to see you sacri- 
fice yourself to alleviate the misfortune of others. 
We will stay ; one never repents of having done a 
kind act.” 

That night Miss Lydia tossed in her bed, without 
being able to go to sleep. Sometimes the vague 
noises that she heard seemed to her preparations 
for an attack against the house; sometimes, reas- 
sured about herself, she thought of the poor 
wounded man, probably stretched at that hour on 
the cold ground, without other help than could be 
expected from the charity of a bandit. She pic- 
tured him covered with blood, writhing in horrible 
pain; and it is curious that every time the image 
of Orso presented itself to her mind, he appeared 


CO LOME A. 


1 86 

exactly as she had seen him at the moment of his 
departure, pressing against his lips the talisman 
which she had given him. Then she thought of 
his bravery. She told herself that the terrible 
danger from which he had just escaped was be- 
cause of her; that he had exposed himself in or- 
der to see her a little sooner. She very nearly 
convinced herself that Orso had broken his arm 
in defending her. She reproached herself for his 
wound, but she admired him the more for it; and 
if the famous double shot had not so much merit 
in her eyes as in Brandolaccio’s and Colomba’s, 
yet she believed that few heroes of romance would 
have shown so much intrepidity and self-posses- 
sion in such great peril. 

A The room which she occupied was Colomba’s. 
Above an oaken prayer-stool, beside a consecrated 
palm, hung a miniature portrait of Orso in sub- 
lieutenant’s uniform. Miss Nevil took down the 
portrait, studied it for a long time, and at last laid 
it beside her bed, instead of hanging it again in its 
place. She did not go to sleep until daybreak, 
and the sun was high above the horizon when she 
awoke. Colomba was standing motionless beside 
the bed, waiting for the moment when she would 
open her eyes. 

“Ah, Miss Nevil! you are very uncomfortable in 
our house, are you not?” said Colomba. “I am 
afraid you have not slept much.” 


COLO MB A. 187 

“ Have you any news of him, dear? ” asked Miss 
Nevil, sitting up. 

She perceived Orso’s portrait, and hastened to 
throw a handkerchief over it to conceal it. 

“Yes, I have news of him,” said Colomba with 
a smile. And taking up the portrait, she asked, 
“ Do you think it a good resemblance ? He is 
better looking than that.” 

“Dear me!” said Miss Nevil, feeling quite 
ashamed ; “ I took the portrait down absent-mind- 
edly. It is one of my failings to handle things, 
and not to put anything back in its place. How 
is your brother ? ” 

“ Pretty well. Giocanto came here this morning 
before four o’clock, and brought a letter — for you, 
Miss Lydia ; Orso did not write to me. The ad- 
dress was: Colomba j and lower down, For Miss 
Nevil. Sisters are never jealous. Giocanto said 
that he suffered a great deal in writing. Giocanto, 
who has an excellent handwriting, offered to write 
at Orso’s dictation; but Orso would not hear of 
it. He wrote with a pencil, lying on his back. 
Brandolaccio held the paper. At every instant 
my brother wished to get up, but the slightest 
movement caused frightful pains in his arm. Gio- 
canto said it was sad to see him. Here is the 
letter.” 

Miss Nevil read the letter, which was written in 


COLO MB A. 


1 88 

English, probably from excess of prudence. This 
is what it contained : — 

Miss Nevil , — My unhappy destiny urged me on. 
I do not know what my enemies will say, what slanders 
they will invent; and I do not care, if you will not be- 
lieve them. Since seeing you I have flattered myself with 
senseless dreams. This catastrophe was necessary to show 
me my folly; I am reasonable now. I know the future 
which is awaiting me, and I shall meet it with resignation. 
The ring you gave me, which I have regarded as a talis- 
man of happiness, I dare not keep. I fear, Miss Nevil, 
that you must regret having so ill bestowed your gifts ; or 
rather, I fear it will recall to me the time when I was 
foolish. Colomba will return it to you. Good-by, — 
you are about to leave Corsica, and I shall not see you 
again ; but tell my sister that I still have your esteem, and 
I am sure that I shall always deserve it. o. D. R. 

Miss Lydia had turned aside to read this letter ; 
and Colomba, who was watching her closely, gave 
her the Egyptian ring with a look which asked 
what it signified. Miss Lydia dared not raise her 
head ; and she looked sadly at the ring, putting it 
on her finger and drawing it off alternately. 

“Dear Miss Nevil,” said Colomba, “May I not 
know what my brother wrote? Did he speak of 
his health?” 

“ Why,” — said Miss Lydia, blushing, “ he did 
not mention it. His letter is in English. He 
wishes me to say to my father — he hopes that the 
prefect can arrange — ” 


COLO MB A. 


189 

Colomba, with a mischievous smile, sat down on 
the bed, took Niss Nevil’s hands, and looking pen- 
etratingly at her, said, “ Will you be good ? Will 
you not write to my brother? You would do him 
so much good! For a moment I thought of wak- 
ing you as soon as the letter was delivered, and 
then I did not dare.” 

“You were very wrong,” answered Miss Nevil. 
“If a word from me can” — 

“ I cannot send any letters to him now. The 
prefect has arrived, and Pietranera is full of his 
officers. By and by we shall see about it. Ah, if 
you knew my brother, Miss Nevil, you would love 
him as I do, — he is so good, so brave! Think 
of what he has done ! Alone, against two ; and 
wounded ! ” 

The prefect had returned. Since he had re- 
ceived information from the deputy, he came, ac- 
companied by policemen and sharp-shooters, the 
public prosecutor, his clerk, and all the other offi- 
cials, to investigate the new and terrible catastrophe 
which complicated, or, better, ended the hostilities 
between the families of Pietranera. Soon after 
his arrival he saw Colonel Nevil and his daughter, 
and did not conceal from them his fear that the 
affair might turn out badly. “You know,” he said, 
“ that the combat had no witnesses ; and the repu- 
tation of these young men for skill and courage 


COLOMBA. 


190 

was so well established that everybody will refuse 
to believe that Monsieur della Rebbia could have 
killed them without the assistance of the bandits, 
with whom he is said to have taken refuge.” 

“ Impossible ! ” exclaimed the colonel ; “ Orso 
della Rebbia is a fellow of the highest honor ; I 
will answer for him.” 

“ I believe he is,” said the prefect ; “ but the 
public prosecutor (these gentlemen are always sus- 
picious) does not seem very favorably disposed. 
He has in his hands a document which may prove 
fatal to your friend. It is a threatening letter ad- 
dressed to Orlanduccio, in which he appoints to 
meet him, and the place of meeting appeared to 
him an ambuscade.” 

“ This Orlanduccio,” said the colonel, “ refused 
to fight like an honorable man.” 

“That is not the custom here. The fashion of 
this country is to lie in ambush, and kill from be- 
hind. There is indeed one favorable piece of 
evidence : it is that of a child who states that she 
heard the four reports, and that the last two, louder 
than the others, came from a gun of large calibre, 
like Monsieur della Rebbia’s. Unfortunately this 
child is the niece of one of the bandits who are 
suspected of complicity, and she has been taught 
what to say.” 

“ Monsieur,” interrupted Miss Lydia, blushing 


COL OMB A. 


I 9 I 

up to her eyes, “we were on the road when the 
guns were fired, and we heard the same thing.” 

“ Indeed ! That is important. Did you also 
notice it, colonel ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Miss Lydia quickly ; “ my 
father, who is accustomed to weapons, said, 1 That 
is della Rebbia shooting with my gun.’ ” 

“ And were these shots, which you recognized, 
the last ? ” 

“ The last, were they not, father ? ” 

The colonel had not a very good memory ; but 
on every occasion he was careful not to contradict 
his daughter. 

“ I must speak to the public prosecutor about 
that at once, colonel. For the rest, we are expect- 
ing a surgeon this evening, who will examine the 
corpses, and will determine whether the wounds 
were made by the weapon in question.” 

“ I gave it to Orso,” said the colonel, “ and I 
wish it were at the bottom of the sea. That is 
to say — brave boy ! — I am very glad that he had 
it in his hands; for without my Manton, I don’t 
know how he would have escaped.” 


192 


COLOMBA. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

The surgeon arrived a little late. He had had 
an adventure on the way ; he had met Giocanto 
Castriconi, and had been requested with the great- 
est politeness to go and attend a wounded man. 
He had been conducted to Orso, and had dressed 
his wound. Afterwards the bandit accompanied 
him some distance back, and edified him very much 
by talking about the most famous professors of 
Pisa, who, he said, were his intimate friends. 

“ Doctor,” said the theologian in taking leave, 
“you have inspired me with so much regard for 
you that I do not think it necessary to remind you 
that a physician ought to be as discreet as a con- 
fessor ; ” and he clicked the lock of his gun. “ You 
must forget the place where we have had the honor 
of seeing each other. Good-by, — glad to have 
made your acquaintance.” 

Colomba begged the colonel to be present at the 
autopsy. “ You know my brother’s gun better than 
any one else does,” she said ; “ and your presence 
will be very useful. Besides, there are so many 
wicked people here, that we should run a great risk 
if we had no one to defend our interests.” 


/ 


COLO MB A. 


193 


When she was alone with Miss Lydia, she com- 
plained of a severe headache, and proposed to walk 
a short distance out of the village. “ The open air 
will do me good,” she said, “ it is so long since I 
have breathed ! ” Whilst walking she talked about 
her brother ; and Miss Lydia, who was intensely 
interested in this subject, did not notice that she 
was going far away from Pietranera. The sun was 
setting when she finally observed it, and she begged 
Colomba to go back. Colomba knew a cross road, 
which would, as she said, shorten the return jour- 
ney; and she left the footpath which she was fol- 
lowing, and took another, apparently much less 
frequented. Soon she began to climb a slope so 
steep that she was continually obliged to cling to 
the branches of trees with one hand, while with the 
other she drew her companion after her. At the 
end of a long period of painful climbing they found 
themselves on a little plateau covered with myrtle 
and arbutus, in the midst of great masses of granite 
which projected from the ground on every side. 
Miss Lydia was very weary, the village was not in 
sight, and it was almost night. 

“ Dear Colomba,” she said, “ I am afraid that 
we have lost our way.” 

“ Don’t be afraid,” replied Colomba. “ Walk 
along; follow me.” 

“ But I assure you that you are mistaken ; the 


194 


COLO MB A. 


village cannot be in that direction. I am sure that 
we are turning our backs on it. Look ! those lights 
that you see so far away must be in Pietranera.” 

“ My dear friend,” said Colomba with agitation, 
“you are right; but two hundred paces from here 
— in this maquis ” — 

“Well?” 

“Is my brother ; I could see him and embrace 
him if you were willing.” 

Miss Nevil started with surprise. 

“ I came out of Pietranera without being noticed, 
because I was with you, — otherwise I should have 
been followed. To be so near him, and not to see 
him ! Why will you not come with me to see my 
poor brother? You would give him such great 
pleasure ! ” 

“ But, Colomba, — it would not be proper on 
my part.” 

“ I understand. You city women are always dis- 
turbed about what is proper; we village people 
think only of what is right.” 

“ But it is so late ! What will your brother 
think of me ? ” 

“ He will think that he is not abandoned by his 
friends, and that will give him courage to suffer.” 

“And my father, — he will be so anxious.” 

“He knows you are with me. Well, decide. 
You were looking at his portrait this morning,” 
she added with a mischievous smile. 


COLO MB A. I95 

“No, truly, Colomba, I dare not; the bandits 
who are there ” — 

“ Oh, well ! those bandits do not know you, what 
does it matter ? You wished to see him ! ” 

“ Dear me ! ” 

“ Now make up your mind. I cannot leave you 
alone here ; I know not what might happen to you. 
Let us go and see Orso, or else return to the village. 
I shall see my brother — God knows when — per- 
haps never ” — 

“What are you saying, Colomba? Well, let us 
go ! But for only a minute, and we will return 
immediately.” 

Colomba pressed her hand, and without reply- 
ing began to walk so fast that Miss Lydia had 
difficulty in following her. Fortunately Colomba 
stopped soon to say to her companion, “We must 
not go any farther without warning them ; we might 
perhaps be shot.” Then she whistled through her 
fingers ; and a moment afterwards they heard a dog 
bark, and the advanced sentinel of the bandits soon 
appeared. It was our old acquaintance, the dog 
Brusco, who instantly recognized Colomba, and took 
it upon himself to act as her guide. After many 
turnings in the narrow paths of the maquis, two 
men armed to the teeth approached to meet them, 

“ Is that you, Brandolaccio ? ” asked Colomba. 
“Where is my brother?” 


CO LOME A. 


196 

“ Over yonder,” replied the bandit. “ But ad- 
vance softly. He is sleeping for the first time 
since his accident.” 

The two women approached with precaution; 
and near a fire, the flames of which had been pru- 
dently concealed by a wall of loose stone con- 
structed around it, they perceived Orso lying on a 
pile of fern and covered with a cloak. He was 
very pale, and he breathed heavily. Colomba 
seated herself near him, and watched him in si- 
lence, with her hands joined as if she were mentally 
praying. Miss Lydia, covering her face with her 
handkerchief, pressed close against her; but from 
time to time she raised her head to look at the 
wounded man over Colomba’s shoulder. For a 
quarter of an hour no one spoke. At a sign from 
the theologian, Brandolaccio had plunged into the 
maquis with him, to the great content of Miss 
Lydia, who found for the first time that the thick 
beards and the equipment of the bandits had too 
much local color. 

At last Orso moved. Colomba immediately bent 
over him, and kissed him again and again, over- 
whelming him with questions about his wound, his 
suffering, and his needs. After Orso had replied 
that he was as comfortable as possible, he in his 
turn asked if Miss Nevil was still at Pietranera, 
and if she had written to him. Since Colomba 


CO LOME A. 


19 7 


was stooping over her brother, she completely hid 
from him her companion, whom the darkness would 
nevertheless have made difficult to recognize. She 
held one of Miss Nevil’s hands, and with the other 
she gently lifted Orso’s head. 

“No, brother, she did not give me a letter for 
you. But you are always thinking of Miss Nevil. 
Do you love her very much ? ” 

“ Do I love her, Colomba ! But she — perhaps 
she scorns me now.” 

At this moment Miss Nevil made an effort to 
withdraw her hand ; but it was not easy to release 
herself from Colomba, whose hands, though small 
and well-formed, possessed a strength of which we 
have seen some proofs. 

“ Scorns you ! ” cried Colomba, “ after what you 
have done ! On the contrary, she says good things 
about you. Ah, Orso, I have many messages from 
her to tell you ! ” 

The hand was always trying to free itself, but 
Colomba kept drawing it nearer to Orso. 

“ Why did she not answer me ? ” said the patient. 
“ A single line, and I should have been content.” 

By pulling Miss Nevil’s hand, Colomba suc- 
ceeded in placing it in her brother’s. Then, step- 
ping aside suddenly, she burst out laughing, and 
exclaimed, “ Orso, take care not to speak ill of 
Miss Lydia, for she understands Corsican very 
well.” 


COL OMB A. 


198 

Miss Lydia withdrew her hand, and stammered 
a few unintelligible words. Orso believed that he 
was dreaming. 

“You here, Miss Nevil! How did you dare to 
come? You make me so happy! ” He lifted him- 
self with difficulty, and tried to move near her. 

“ I accompanied your sister,” Miss Lydia re- 
plied, “that no one might suspect where she was 
going — and then — I wanted — to be sure — 
Alas ! how uncomfortable you are here ! ” 

Colomba had seated herself behind Orso. She 
raised his head carefully, and rested it against 
her knees. She passed her arms around his 
neck, and signed to Miss Lydia to approach. 
“Nearer, nearer,” she said; “a sick person must 
not speak too loud.” As Miss Lydia hesitated, 
she seized her hand, and forced her to sit down 
so close to Orso that her dress touched him, and 
her hand, which she still held, rested on his 
shoulder. 

“This is very pleasant,” said Colomba gayly. 
“ Isn’t it pleasant, Orso, to be out-of-doors in 
the ?naquis on a beautiful night like this?” 

“ Oh, yes ! it is a fine night,” said Orso. “ I 
shall never forget it.” 

“How much you must suffer!” said Miss Nevil. 

“ I am no longer in pain,” replied Orso ; “ and 
I should like to die here.” His right hand 


COLO MB A. I99 

moved towards Miss Lydia’s, which Colomba still 
held imprisoned. 

“It is absolutely necessary for you to be car- 
ried somewhere where you will be nursed, Mon- 
sieur della Rebbia,” Miss Nevil said. “ I shall 
not be able to sleep now that I have seen you on 
such an uncomfortable bed in the open air.” 

“ Had I not been afraid of meeting you, Miss 
Nevil, I should have tried to return to Pietranera, 
and I should have given myself up as a prisoner.” 

“ What ? Why were you afraid to meet her, 
Orso?” asked Colomba. 

“I had disobeyed you, Miss Nevil; and I 
should not have dared to see you at that mo- 
ment.” 

“Do you know, Miss Lydia, you can make my 
brother do whatever you wish ? ” said Colomba 
with a smile. “ I shall hinder you from seeing 
him.” 

“ I hope,” said Miss Nevil, “ that this unfortu- 
nate affair will be cleared up, and that soon you 
will have nothing to fear. I should be very glad 
if I could know before we go away that justice 
had been done to you, and that your sense of 
honor, as well as your bravery, had been recog- 
nized.” 

“Are you going away, Miss Nevil? Do not 
speak of that,” 


200 


COLO MB A. 


“ What can we do ? My father cannot hunt 
always. He wishes to go.” 

Orso let his hand fall so that it touched Miss 
Lydia’s, and there was a moment of silence. 

“Indeed!” said Colomba, “we shall not let you 
go so soon. We still have many things to show you 
at Pietranera. Besides, you have promised to paint 
my portrait, and you have not yet begun. And 
then, I promised to compose for you a serenade of 
seventy-five couplets. And then — but why does 
Brusco growl ? There is Brandolaccio running after 
him. I am going to see what is the matter.” 

She jumped up, and unceremoniously placing 
Orso’s head on Miss NeviPs lap, ran after the 
bandits. 

A little astonished at finding herself supporting 
a handsome young man, and quite alone with him 
in the midst of the maquis , Miss Nevil hardly knew 
what to do ; for she feared that if she should with- 
draw suddenly she might injure the sick man. But 
Orso himself left the sweet support that his sister 
had just given him, and propped himself on his 
right arm. “ Then you are going very soon, Miss 
Lydia ? ” he said. “ I never thought that you ought 
to prolong your stay in this unhappy country ; and 
yet, since you have been here, my suffering has 
been made a hundred times worse by the thought 
that I must part from you. I am a poor lieutenant, 


COL OMB A. 


201 


without a future, exiled now. What a moment, 
Miss Lydia, to tell you that I love you! But it is 
the only time that I can tell you ; and it seems to 
me that I am less unhappy now that I have disbur- 
dened my heart.” 

Miss Lydia turned her head away, as if the 
obscurity were not enough to hide her blushes* 
“ Monsieur della Rebbia,” she said in a trembling 
voice, “ should I have come to this place if ” — 
and while she spoke she put the Egyptian talis- 
man into Orso’s hand. Then she made a violent 
effort to recover the bantering tone which was 
habitual with her. “ It is very unkind of you, 
Monsieur della Rebbia, to speak so. In the midst 
of the maquzs, surrounded by your bandits, you 
know that 1 s/iould never dare get angry with 
you.” 

Orso moved, in order to kiss the hand that gave 
him the talisman ; and as Miss Lydia withdrew it 
rather quickly, he lost his balance, and fell upon 
his wounded arm. He could not suppress a moan 
of pain. 

“Have you hurt yourself, dear?” she cried, as 
she lifted him ; “ it is my fault ! Pardon me ! ” 
They continued to talk for some time in a whisper, 
and very close to each other. Colomba, who ran 
in precipitately, found them in exactly the position 
in which she had left them. 


202 


COLO MB A. 


« The sharpshooters ! ” she shouted. “ Orso, try 
to get up and walk — I will help you.” 

“Leave me,” said Orso. “Tell the bandits to 
save themselves ; let me be captured, it will not 
matter. But take Miss Lydia ; in God’s name, do 
not let her be seen here ! ” 

“ I shall not leave you,” said Brandolaccio, who 
came up behind Colomba. “ The sergeant of the 
sharpshooters is a godson of the lawyer. Instead 
of taking you into custody, he will kill you ; and 
then he will say that he did not do it intentionally.” 

Orso tried to rise, and even took a few steps; 
but he soon stopped, and said, “ I cannot walk. 
Escape, the rest of you. Good-by, Miss Nevil, give 
me your hand — good-by ! ” 

“We will not leave you ! ” cried the two wo- 
men. 

“If you cannot walk,” said Brandolaccio, “ I 
must carry you. Now, lieutenant, a little courage ! 
We shall have time to run away through the ravine 
back there. The vicar is going to give them some- 
thing to do.” 

“ No, leave me,” said Orso, lying down on the 
ground. “In the name of God, Golomba, take 
Miss Nevil away!” 

“ You are strong, Colomba,” said Brandolaccio ; 
“grasp him by the shoulders, and I will lift his 
feet. That’s good! Forward, march!” 


COL OMB A. 


203 


They began to carry him rapidly, in spite of 
his protestations ; Miss Lydia was following them, 
horribly frightened, when the report of a gun was 
heard, to which five or six others immediately 
answered. Miss Lydia gave a scream, and Brando- 
laccio a curse, but he redoubled his speed ; and 
Colomba, following his example, ran through the 
maqziis, without heeding the branches that whipped 
her face or tore her clothes. 

“ Stoop, stoop, my dear,” she said to her com- 
panion, “ a ball might hit you.” They had walked, 
or rather run, about a hundred paces in this way, 
when Brandolaccio declared that he was quite ex- 
hausted, and let himself fall on the ground, in spite 
of Colomba’s exhortations and reproaches. 

“ Where is Miss Nevil ? ” asked Orso. 

Miss Nevil, frightened by the shots, and arrested 
every moment by the denseness of the maqziis, had 
very soon lost the track of the fugitives, and had 
remained alone, in the greatest distress. 

“ She is behind us,” said Brandolaccio ; “ but she 
is not lost. Just listen, Ors’ Anton’, to the uproar 
the vicar is making with your gun. Unfortunately 
one cannot see anything, and there is no great 
danger in shooting at one another in the dark.” 

“ Hush ! ” said Colomba ; « I hear a horse ; we 
are saved ! ” 

A horse which had been grazing in the maquis , 


204 


COLO MB A. 


frightened by the noise of the firing, was in fact 
coming in their direction. 

“ We are saved ! ” Brandolaccio repeated. To 
run to the horse, seize him by the mane, and put a 
knotted rope into his mouth for a bridle, was for 
the bandit, with Colomba’s aid, the work of but a 
moment. “Now let us warn the vicar,” he said. 
He whistled twice ; one long whistle answered this 
signal, and the Manton gun ceased to make its loud 
voice heard. Then Brandolaccio leaped upon the 
horse ; Colomba placed her brother in front of the 
bandit, who held him firmly with one hand, while 
he guided with the other. In spite of the double 
load, the horse, excited by two vigorous kicks in 
the stomach, set off briskly, and galloped down a 
slope so steep that any other but a Corsican horse 
would have been killed a hundred times. 

Colomba retraced her steps, calling Miss Nevil 
as loudly as she could ; but no voice replied to 
hers. After she had walked at random for some 
time, trying to find the road that she had been fol- 
lowing, she met in a footpath two sharpshooters, 
who shouted, “Who goes there?” 

“Well, gentlemen,” said Colomba in a bantering 
tone, “here is a pretty clatter. How many have 
you killed ? ” 

“You were with the bandits,” said one of the 
soldiers. “ You are to come with us.” 


COLOMBA. 205 

“Very willingly,” she responded; “but I have 
a friend here, and I must find her first.” 

“Your friend is already taken; and you are 
going to lie in prison with her.” 

“In prison? We shall see about that; but in 
the meantime, conduct me to her.” 

They led her to the encampment of the bandits, 
where they had collected the trophies of their ex- 
pedition ; that is, the cloak which had covered 
Orso, an old saucepan, and a pitcher filled with 
water. Miss Nevil was there also. When, half 
dead with fear, she had been overtaken by the 
soldiers, she answered with tears to all their 
questions about the number of the bandits, and 
the direction they had taken. 

Colomba threw herself into her arms, and whis- 
pered in her ear, “ They are saved.” Then, ad- 
dressing the sergeant of the sharpshooters, she 
said, “ You see plainly that this young lady knows 
nothing about the things you ask her. Let us re- 
turn to the village, where our people are anxiously 
waiting for us.” 

“You will be taken there, and sooner than you 
wish, my darling,” said the sergeant ; “ and you 
will have to explain what you were doing in the 
maquis at this time of night with the bandits 
who have just escaped. I don’t know what spell 
those rascals use ; but they certainly fascinate girls, 


20 6 


COLO MB A. 


for one is sure of finding pretty ones wherever there 
are bandits.” 

“ You are complimentary, Sergeant,” said Co- 
lomba ; “ but you will do well to pay attention to 
your words. This young lady is a friend of the 
prefect, and you must not crack your jokes before 
her.” 

“Friend of the prefect!” murmured a sharp- 
shooter to his chief ; “ indeed, you see she wears 
a hat.” 

“ Never mind the hat,” said the sergeant. 
“ They were both with the vicar, and my duty 
is to take them into custody. Indeed, we have 
nothing more to do. If it had not been for that 
cursed Corporal Taupin, — that French drunkard 
made his appearance before I could surround the 
maquis , — if it had not been for him, we should 
have caught them as in a net.” 

“ There are seven of you, are there not ? ” asked 
Colomba. “ Do you know, gentlemen, that if the 
three brothers, Gambini, Sarrochi, and Theodore 
Poli, should chance to be at Saint Christine with 
Brandolaccio and the vicar, they might give you a 
great deal of trouble. If you are going to have 
a conversation with the Commander of the District,! 
I would rather not be present. Bullets do not 
recognize any one at night.” 

1 This was the title that Theodore Poli took. 


CO LOME A. 


20 7 


The possibility of an encounter with the formid- 
able bandits whom Colomba had just mentioned 
seemed to make an impression upon the sharp- 
shooters. Still fuming against Corporal Taupin, 
the dog of France, the sergeant gave the order for 
retreat; and his little troop took the road towards 
Pietranera, carrying the cloak and the saucepan. 
As for the pitcher, that was disposed of by a kick. 
One of the sharpshooters tried to take Miss 
Lydia’s arm ; but Colomba pushed him away, and 
said, “ Let no one touch her ! Do you think we 
intend to escape? Here, Lydia dear, lean on me, 
and do not cry like a child. This is an adventure, 
but it will not turn out badly. In half an hour we 
shall be at supper. For my part, I am dying with 
impatience for it.” 

“ What will people think of me ? ” said Miss 
Lydia in a low tone. 

“ They will think that you have lost your way 
in the 7naquis, that is all.” 

“ What will the prefect say? Above all, what 
will my father say?” 

“The prefect? Tell him to mind his own pre- 
fecture. Your father? From the way you were 
chatting with Orso, I should think you would have 
something to say to your father.” 

Miss Nevil pressed her arm without replying. 

“ Doesn’t my brother deserve to be loved ? ” 


208 


CO LOME A. 


Colomba murmured in her ear. “Don’t you love 
him a little?” 

“ Ah, Colomba ! ” Miss Nevil answered, smiling in 
spite of her confusion, “ you have betrayed me, — 
me, who had so much confidence in you ! ” 

Colomba slipped one arm around her waist, 
and kissed her forehead. “ My little sister,” she 
whispered, “ will you pardon me ? ” 

“ I cannot help doing so, terrible sister that you 
are,” answered Lydia, kissing Colomba in return. 

The prefect and the public prosecutor were stay- 
ing at the deputy’s house in Pietranera ; and the 
colonel, who was very anxious about his daughter, 
had gone to them for the twentieth time to inquire 
for news about her, when a sharpshooter, who had 
been sent as courier by the sergeant, gave them an 
account of the terrible combat against the brigands ; 
a combat in which there had been, it is true, neither 
dead nor wounded, but in which a saucepan, a cloak, 
and two young girls, who were said to be spies of 
the bandits, were taken. Thus announced, the two 
prisoners appeared in the midst of their armed es- 
cort. Imagine Colomba’s radiant face, her com- 
panion’s shame, the prefect’s surprise, the colonel’s 
joy and astonishment. The prosecutor took a mali- 
cious pleasure in subjecting poor Lydia to a kind of 
cross-questioning, which he did not finish until he 
had put her quite out of countenance. 


COL OMB A. 


209 


“It seems to me,” said the prefect, “ that we 
might set every one free. These young ladies went 
out to walk — nothing more natural in beautiful 
weather ; they happened to meet a pleasant young 
man — again perfectly natural.” Then he took 
Colomba aside, and said, “You may send word to 
your brother that his affair has taken a better turn 
than I had hoped for. The examination of the 
corpses and the testimony of the colonel prove that 
he did nothing but return fire, and that he was 
alone at the time of the encounter. Everything 
will be settled ; but he must leave the maquis at 
once, and give himself up as prisoner.” 

It was nearly eleven o’clock when the colonel, his 
daughter, and Colomba sat down before a cold sup- 
per. Colomba ate with a good appetite, and ridi- 
culed the prefect, the public prosecutor, and the 
sharpshooters. The colonel ate, but did not speak 
a word, and watched his daughter, who did not lift 
her eyes from her plate. At last, speaking in a 
gentle but serious tone, he said in English, — 

“ Lydia, are you engaged to della Rebbia ? ” 

“ Yes, father, from to-day,” she replied with a 
blush, but speaking firmly. 

Then she raised her eyes, and seeing on her 
father’s face no sign of displeasure, she threw her- 
self into his arms and kissed him, as well-bred 
young ladies do on such occasions. 


210 


COLO MB A. 


“ All right ! ” said the colonel ; “ he is a fine fel- 
low. But, indeed, we shall not stay in his con- 
founded country, else I shall refuse my consent.” 

“ I do not understand English,” said Colomba, 
eying them with extreme curiosity, “but I wager 
that I have guessed what you were saying.” 

“ We were saying,” answered the colonel, “ that 
we should take you on a trip to Ireland.” 

“ Oh, yes ! I will go with pleasure ; and I shall be 
sister Colomba. Is it agreed, Colonel ? Shall we 
shake hands upon it ? ” 

“ People kiss each other in such cases,” said the 
colonel. 


COLO MB A. 


211 


CHAPTER XX. 

One afternoon, a few months after the double 
shot which “plunged the community of Pietranera 
into consternation,” as the newspaper said, a young 
man, with his left arm in a sling, rode out of Bas- 
tia on horseback, and directed his course towards 
Cardo, celebrated for its fountain, which in summer 
furnishes delicious water for the delicate people of 
the town. He was accompanied by a tall and re- 
markably beautiful woman, mounted on a small 
black horse, whose strength and elegance a con- 
noisseur would have admired ; but unfortunately 
one of his ears was lacerated by some strange ac- 
cident. When they arrived in the village, the young 
woman leaped nimbly to the ground, and after aid 
ing her companion to dismount, untied some rather 
heavy bags fastened to the saddle-bow. The horses 
were put in charge of a peasant ; and the woman, 
burdened with the bags which she concealed under 
her mezzaro, and the man carrying a double- 
barrelled gun, made their way up the mountain, fol- 
lowing a steep footpath which did not seem to lead 
to any dwelling. When they reached one of the 
lofty ridges of Mount Quercio, they stopped, and 


212 


COLO MB A. 


seated themselves on the grass. They appeared to 
be waiting for some one ; for they continually turned 
their eyes towards the mountain, and the woman 
often consulted a pretty gold watch, perhaps as 
much for the sake of looking at a trinket which 
she seemed to have owned but a short time, as to 
know whether the hour of an appointed meeting 
had arrived. They did not have to wait long. A 
dog leaped out of the maquis ; and when the young 
woman called “ Brusco ! ” he rushed to them and 
caressed them. Two bearded men presently ap- 
peared, with their guns under their arms, their car- 
tridge boxes at their belts, and their pistols at their 
sides. Their shining weapons, of a make renowned 
on the Continent, contrasted sharply with their torn 
and patched clothes. In spite of the apparent in- 
equality of their positions, the four characters of 
this scene accosted one another familiarly and like 
old friends. 

“ Well, Ors’ Anton’,” said the elder bandit to the 
young man, “ this business of yours is over. I con- 
gratulate you on your acquittal. I am sorry that 
the lawyer is no longer in the island so that we 
can see him become enraged at you. How is your 
arm?” 

“ I am told that in two weeks I can leave off my 
sling,” answered the young man. “ Brando, my 
good fellow, I am going to start to-morrow for 


COLO MB A. 


21 3 


Italy; and I wanted to say good-by to you, and to 
the vicar also. That is why I asked you to come 
here.” 

“You are in a great hurry,” said Brandolaccio. 
“ You were acquitted yesterday, and you are going 
away to-morrow.” 

“There are reasons,” said the young woman 
gayly. “ Gentlemen, I have brought you a supper. 
Eat, and don’t leave out my friend Brusco.” 

“You are spoiling Brusco, Colomba; but he is 
grateful. You shall see. Here, Brusco,” he said, 
holding out his gun horizontally, “leap for the 
Barricinis ! ” The dog remained motionless, lick- 
ing his nose, and watching his master. “ Leap for 
the della Rebbias ! ” And he jumped two feet 
higher than was necessary. 

“ Look here, friends,” said Orso, “ yours is a bad 
trade ; and if it does not happen to you to end your 
career on that place of execution that you see down 
yonder, the best that can come to you is to fall in 
the maquis under a policeman’s bullet.” 

“ Oh, well ! ” said Castriconi, “ that is as good a 
death as any other, and much better than the fever 
which kills you in your bed, in the midst of the 
more or less sincere lamentations of your heirs. 
When one has the habit of living in the open air, 
as we have, there is nothing like dying in one’s 
shoes, as the village people say.” 


214 


CO LOME A. 


“ I should like to see you leave this country,” 
Orso continued, “and lead a more tranquil life. 
For example, why don’t you go and establish your- 
selves in Sardinia, as several of your comrades 
have done ? I could make the way easy for 
you.” 

“ In Sardinia ! ” exclaimed Brandolaccio. “ Those 
Sardinians are too poor company for us.” 

“ There are no resources in Sardinia,” added the 
theologian. “ For my part, I hate the Sardinians. 
They have a mounted militia to hunt out the ban- 
dits ; that is a criticism upon the bandits and the 
country at the same time. Fie upon Sardinia ! It 
surprises me, della Rebbia, that you, a man of 
taste and knowledge, have not adopted our life in 
the maquis, since you have once tasted it.” 

“ But,” said Orso with a smile, “ when I had the 
advantage of being your messmate, I was not ex- 
actly in a condition to appreciate the charms of 
your position ; and my sides still ache when I recall 
the ride I took one beautiful night, slung like a 
bundle across a saddleless horse, which my friend 
Brandolaccio guided.” 

“ Doesn’t the pleasure of escaping from the pur- 
suit count for anything with you ? How can you be 
insensible to the charm of absolute liberty under 
a beautiful sky like ours ? With this protector (he 
indicated his gun) one is king everywhere within 


COLO MB A. 


215 


range of his bullets. One can command, one can 
redress wrongs : it is a very moral and very 
agreeable sport, which we are not going to deny 
ourselves. What life can be more beautiful than 
that of knight-errant, when one is better armed and 
more sensible than Don Quixote ? Why, only the 
other day I heard that little Lilia Luigi’s uncle, old 
miser that he is, would not give her a dowry ; I 
wrote to him, without threats — it is not my cus- 
tom to use them. Well, that man was instantly 
convinced; he had her married. I brought about 
the happiness of two persons. Believe me, della 
Rebbia, nothing is comparable to the life of a ban- 
dit. Bah ! you might perhaps have become one 
of us, had it not been for a certain Englishwoman 
of whom I only caught a glimpse, but of whom all 
the people at Bastia speak with admiration.” 

“ My future sister-in-law does not like the ma- 
quis” said Colomba with a laugh ; “ she has been 
too much frightened in them.” 

“ Then, you wish to remain here ? ” said Orso. 
“ Very well. Tell me if I can do anything for you.” 

“Nothing,” answered Brandolaccio, “except to 
remember us. You have loaded us with benefits. 
There is Chilina with a dowry, and for her to 
marry well it will not be necessary for my friend 
the vicar to write letters without threats. We know 
that your farmer will give us bread and powder in 


21 6 


CO LOME A. 


time of need. Then, good-by ; I hope to see you 
again in Corsica one of these days.” 

“ In an emergency,” Orso said, “ a few gold-pieces 
are of great use. Now that we are old acquaint- 
ances, you will not refuse to take this little car- 
touche 1 which may aid you in procuring others.” 

“ No money between us, lieutenant,” said Bran- 
dolaccio in a resolute tone. 

“ Money does everything out in the world,” said 
Castriconi ; “ but in the maquis we value only a 
brave heart, and a gun which does not miss fire.” 

“ I should not like to go away,” Orso continued, 
“without leaving you some souvenir. What can 
I give you, Brando ? ” 

The bandit scratched his head, and threw a side- 
long glance at Orso’s gun. 

“Why, lieutenant — if I dared — but no, you 
are too much attached to it.” 

“ What is it that you want ? ” 

“ Nothing — the thing itself is nothing — the way 
to use it is necessary also. I am constantly think- 
ing of that double shot with only one hand. Oh, 
that could not be done twice ! ” 

“ Is it this gun that you want ? I brought it for 
you ; but make use of it as little as you can.” 

“ Oh ! I do not promise to use it as you have done. 

1 Cartouche means both a pile of louts d ’ or , or napoleons, and a 
cartridge. 


COLO MB A 217 

But never fear ; when any one else has it, you may 
be sure that Brando Savelli is dead.” 

“ And you, Castriconi, what shall I give you ? ” 

“ Since you are really desirous of leaving me a 
material remembrance of yourself, I will ask you 
unceremoniously to send me a copy of Horace of 
the smallest possible size. That will entertain me, 
and will prevent me from forgetting my Latin. 
There is a little girl who sells cigars on the wharf 
at Bastia; give it to her, and she will deliver it to 
me.” 

“ You shall have an Elzevir edition, Monsieur le 
savant ; there is one among the books that I was 
going to dispose of. Well, friends, we must part. 
Let us shake hands. If you should some day think 

of going to Sardinia, write to me. Lawyer N 

will give you my address on the Continent.” 

“Lieutenant,” said Brando, “to-morrow, when you 
are out in the harbor, look back at this spot upon 
the mountain. We shall be here, and we will signal 
to you with our handkerchiefs.” 

Then they separated. Orso and his sister took 
the road towards Cardo, and the bandits took the 
mountain path. 


218 


COLO MB A. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

One beautiful morning in April, Colonel Sir 
Thomas Nevil, with his daughter, who had been 
married a few days before, Orso, and Colomba, 
drove out of Pisa in a coach, to visit a recently dis- 
covered Etruscan hypogeum, which all visitors went 
to see. When they had descended into the interior 
of the building, Orso and his wife took out their 
pencils, and set about copying the pictures ; but the 
colonel and Colomba, both rather indifferent to 
archaeology, left them alone, and rambled about the 
neighboring country. 

“My dear Colomba,” said the colonel, “we shall 
never get back to Pisa in time for our luncheon. 
Are you not hungry ? Orso and his wife are back 
there in that old relic ; when they begin to draw to- 
gether they never get through.” 

“Yes,” said Colomba; “and yet they never bring 
back a scrap of a sketch.” 

“ My opinion is that we would better go down to 
that little farmhouse. We can get bread there, and 
perhaps some aleatico. Who knows ? Perhaps 
strawberries and cream too ; and we will wait pa- 
tiently for the sketchers.” 


CO LOME A. 


219 

“You are right, Colonel. You and I, the reason- 
able members of the family, should be very wrong 
to make martyrs of ourselves for these lovers, who 
live only on poetry. Give me your arm. Am I 
not reforming? I take your arm, wear hats and 
fashionable gowns, have jewels, and am learning in- 
numerable beautiful things. I am not at all unedu- 
cated now. Do notice the gracefulness with which 
I wear this shawl. That young fop, the officer of 
your regiment who was present at the wedding, — 
dear me, I cannot remember his name, — a tall, 
curly-haired man, whom I could knock down with 
one blow of my fist” — 

“ Chatworth ? ” suggested the colonel. 

“That is it; but I can never pronounce it. 
Well, he is madly in love with me.” 

“ Ah, Colomba, you are becoming a real coquette. 
We shall have another wedding before long.” 

“ I get married ! Who, then, will bring up my 
nephew — when Orso gives me one ? Who will 
teach him to speak Corsican? Yes, he shall speak 
Corsican; and I shall make him a pointed cap if 
only to tease you.” 

“ Wait until you have a nephew, and then you 
may teach him to play with the stiletto if you think 
best.” 

« Farewell to stilettos,” said Colomba merrily ; 
“ now I have a fan to rap your knuckles with when 
you speak ill of my country.” 


220 


CO LOME A. 


Talking in this way, they entered the farmhouse, 
where they found wine, strawberries, arfd crejam. 
Colomba helped the farmer’s wife pick the straw- 
berries, while the colonel was drinking his aleatico. 
At the bend of a path Colomba saw an old man 
sitting in a straw chair in the sunlight. He seemed 
to be ill, for his cheeks were wrinkled and his eyes 
sunken. He was extremely thin ; and his fixed atti- 
tude, his pallor, and his vacant stare, made him re- 
semble a corpse rather than a living being. For 
several moments Colomba contemplated him with so 
much curiosity that she attracted the attention of 
the farmer’s wife. “ That poor old man,” she said, 
“ is a countryman of yours ; for I know from your 
speech that you are a Corsican. He has had mis- 
fortunes in his country ; his children died in a 
frightful way. It is said — I beg your pardon, 
mademoiselle — that your countrymen are not very 
gentle in their hostilities. Then this old man, who 
was left all alone, came to Pisa with a distant rel- 
ative, the owner of this farm. The good man is a 
little deranged — misfortune and grief caused it. 
It was annoying to the lady, who receives a great 
deal of company, so she sent him here. He is 
very quiet, and not at all troublesome. He does 
not say three words a day. But, then, he is de- 
mented. The doctor comes every week, and he 
says that he will not last long.” 


COLOMBA. 


221 


“ Ah, is he given up?” said Colomba. “ In his 
position it is a blessing to die.” 

“You ought to speak a little Corsican to him, 
mademoiselle. It might cheer him up to hear the 
language of his own country.” 

“We shall see,” said Colomba with an ironical 
smile; and she approached the old man until her 
shadow took the sunlight from him. Then the poor 
creature lifted his head and stared fixedly at Co- 
lomba, who looked back at him with a fixed smile. 
In a moment the old man passed his hand across 
his forehead, and closed his eyes as if to escape 
from Colomba’s gaze. Then he opened them 
again very wide ; his lips trembled. He wanted to 
stretch out his hands ; but fascinated by Colomba, 
he remained spellbound in his chair, unable to 
speak or move. At length great tears rolled from 
his eyes, and a few sobs escaped from his breast. 

“ This is the first time that I have seen him like 
that,” said the farmer’s wife. “ This young lady 
is from your country ; she has come to see you,” 
she explained to the old man. 

“ Mercy ! ” he cried out hoarsely ; “ have mercy ! 
Are you not satisfied ? That leaf which I burned 
— how could you read it? But why both of them ? 
You could not have read anything agains* 
duccio. You might have left me nnp 
Orlanduccio — you could no' 


222 


COLO MB A. 


“ I wanted them both,” said Colomba in a low 
tone, and in the Corsican dialect. “ The branches 
are cut off, and if the trunk had not been rotten I 
should have torn that up. Do not complain ; you 
have not long to suffer. I suffered two years.” 

The old man gave a cry, and his head fell on his 
breast. Colomba turned her back upon him, and 
returned slowly to the house, singing a few words 
of a ballata , “ I want the hand that fired, the eye 
that took aim, the heart that conceived the thought.” 

While the farmer’s wife was hastening to aid 
the old man, Colomba, with heightened color and 
flashing eyes, sat down at the table with the colo- 
nel. 

“ What is the matter with you ? ” he asked. “ You 
look as you did at Pietranera the day they shot at 
the house while we were at dinner.” 

“ Remembrances of Corsica have returned to my 
mind. But that is all over ; I shall be a godmother, 
shall I not ? Oh, what fine names I will give him, 
— Ghilfuccio, Tomaso, Orso, Leone ! ” 

The farmer’s wife returned at this moment. 

“ Well,” asked Colomba with the greatest cool- 
ness, “is he dead ? or only in a faint?” 

“It was nothing, mademoiselle ; but it is strange 
'** effect the sight of you had upon him.” 

doctor says he will not live long ? ” 
months.” 


COLOMBA. 223 

“That will not be a great loss,” observed Co- 
lomba. 

“ Of whom are you talking ? ” asked the colonel. 

“ Of an insane person from my country,” said 
Colomba indifferently, “who is boarding here. I 
shall send from time to time to learn news of him. 
But, Colonel Nevil, do leave some strawberries for 
my brother and Lydia.” 

When Colomba went out of the farmhouse to get 
into the coach, the farmer’s wife followed her with 
her eyes for some time. “ You see that pretty young 
lady,” she said to her daughter; “well, I am sure 
she has the evil eye.” 

































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